“Yes, I know. Most Promising Newcomer.”
“It was the start of my film career. The Colonel said it would make me a big star. That I’d do important things.” The pride on his face melts away, leaving him sad and disillusioned. His shoulders sag, and he walks back to the swinging doors and disappears into the kitchen.
Poor Elvis. People used him for what they could get and told him what he wanted to hear even if it wasn’t the truth. Just like Norma Jeane, they turned him into a well-paid, extremely talented pawn.
Bringing my attention back to Joe and Vinnie, I point my finger at the poster. “Aunt Bobbie told me all about the movie. She said it was the only one of his movies where he got second billing, but that it was worth it because of the Golden Globe. She considered it a highlight of his career. Once she told me, ‘Sure, there’s more flash in some of his other movies, but he gets to die at the end of this one.’ ” A light comes on in my head, something that had never occurred to me before. “Huh. Now that I think about it, the fact that the character dies before he can screw over the woman he loves is probably a real selling point for her.”
Vinnie looks over his shoulder at the poster. As he turns back to me, he says, “Sounds like your mother and your aunt both have issues with men.”
“I guess that’s true. But they approach them in totally different ways. My mother manipulates men and uses them for what she can get. When she stops enjoying herself, she’s done. And when she’s done, they’re gone. But Aunt Bobbie doesn’t want anything to do with them.” I look back at the poster and smile. “Well, except for totally inaccessible, movie star men. Those she drools over.”
Vinnie chuckles. “So what else is different about your mom and your aunt?”
I start picking at my thumbnail but stop and pull another napkin out of the holder instead. “Mom is obsessed with her looks. Aunt Bobbie couldn’t care less.”
If you saw my mother walking down the street, you might wonder if she’d been a fashion model in her younger days. She takes exercise classes at the Y to stay in shape. She’s mastered the art of discount shopping and knows exactly what colors and cuts best play up her features. She keeps her hairstyle modern and free of gray. She hasn’t had any “work” done, but that’s only because she hasn’t been able to afford it. If the money was there, she’d be nipped, tucked, sucked, and lifted in a heartbeat.
Aunt Bobbie, on the other hand, is soft and round and all about comfort. It doesn’t matter to her that her clothes aren’t trendy, or even that the colors and patterns don’t usually match. If the material feels good against her skin and they don’t bind at the waist or chest, she’s happy.
Joe shifts in his chair. “What about deeper things?”
“Like?”
“Are they spiritual women?”
Joe doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, he gets straight to the point.
“Not always. When I was young, Aunt Bobbie wasn’t religious at all. But somebody at work started talking to her about Jesus and invited her to church. She still doesn’t go to church much, but she talks about faith a lot. She believes God watches everything we do and looks out for us.” I look down at the napkin in my hands. Darn it. Shredded another one.
I push the bits of paper aside and continue. “Mom tried the church thing, and you see how great that worked out. Now, she believes only in herself. She says nobody is going to take care of you, so you’ve got to do it for yourself.” This is the one area where I’m more like my mother than my aunt.
Joe folds his hands on top of the table. “So you don’t believe God watches out for you?”
I lean away from Joe, angling my back to the corner of the booth. “You have got to stay out of my brain.”
He shrugs and smiles. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me to be.”
I shake my head. I still don’t see how I have any control over what’s going on. And trying to make sense of it only frustrates me more. I’m done answering questions. “You know what I want right now? I want to find out what else is going on in the land of the living.” I scoot out of the booth, knocking against Joe’s knees in the process. I don’t say I’m sorry. It doesn’t seem to bother him.
“Norma Jeane,” I call out to the waitress and circle one finger in the air, “crank up the radio.”
She gives one of the knobs a twist. Ambient sounds come through the speakers: The snap of magazine pages being flipped too fast for anyone to actually be reading them. The slurping sound of someone drinking coffee through a protective plastic lid. The door opening and slowly hissing shut.
“Hey.” That’s my Aunt Bobbie.
“Hey.” That’s Jake. He pauses, then asks, “Where’s Mrs. Burton?”
I lean over the radio, my mouth close to the speakers and yell, “She went to get coffee.”
“She had to take care of something at work,” Aunt Bobbie sounds tired. “She’ll be back here for the night shift.”
She went to work? I turn to Vinnie. “I thought she just went to get coffee?”
“A little more time has gone by than you think.” He waggles a finger at the radio. “Keep listening.”
I turn back and hear metal chair legs rasp against the hard floor and the squish of someone sitting on a plastic cushion.
“Okay, Jake. Now that it’s just the two of us, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Shoot,” he says, not sounding worried.
“How did you get the nurses to let you into the ICU? They have a pretty strict family-only policy in there.”
She makes it sound like I’m not in the ICU anymore. How much time has gone by? When Aunt Bobbie was talking to Dr. Hoffman, it had only been two days. If I’m not in the ICU, then where am I?
Jake takes a moment before he answers. “I told them I was her fiancé.”
He what? I’m speechless. Apparently so is my aunt, because it takes her a while to respond.
“Is that so?” She sounds skeptical.
“It’s a little complicated.” There’s another long pause. I can imagine Jake leaning forward in the chair, scratching the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I asked Allie to marry me about three weeks before the accident.”
Norma Jeane sucks in a shocked gulp of air. “He asked you to marry him?”
I shush her and point to the radio, not wanting to miss the rest of the conversation.
“I don’t understand,” Aunt Bobbie says. “She told me the two of you broke up.”
Oh boy. Yeah, I did tell her that. And I told her why, which I hope she remembers to keep to herself.
“After I proposed, she said she needed time to think it over. I think the whole thing freaked her out because she never did call me and she wouldn’t answer when I called her. She did a great job avoiding me. Even at graduation. But there was no official break up.”
Aunt Bobbie makes a sound resembling a snort. “She thinks there was.”
Yes, she does.
“I’m getting that idea.” Jake’s voice sounds sad, tired. “But unless she tells me differently, I say we’re still together. I love this woman, and I intend to marry her.”
This is like a scene from one those movies Aunt Bobbie loves. It’s While You Were Sleeping in reverse. Even though I can’t see her, I know my aunt is melting under the warmth of Jake’s sincerity.
“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” There’s sniffling. Aunt Bobbie’s crying. “And I’m sure you think you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
“But what if . . .” She snuffles a few more times. “I mean, I’ve been praying. Every day. But what if she never—”
“She will. She’s going to come through this.” Jake sounds so sure of himself he almost has me convinced that everything’s going to be all right. The thought sparks an idea, igniting a new hope in my head. Maybe I will be all right. Maybe I already am. Maybe this is just a dream and I’m going to wake up soon. Maybe . . . I pinch myself hard on the arm. Other than hur
ting like the dickens, it doesn’t do any good. I’m still in the diner, and Norma Jeane is looking at me like I’m a loon.
A garble of noises comes through the speakers. It sounds like someone’s gotten out of a chair and is walking across the room. A warm whisper of air brushes against my cheek. My fingers tingle. It’s Jake. I don’t know how, but there’s a connection between us that bridges space, time, and the insanity of all this. He’s standing next to me, close enough I feel the warmth of his body.
In the background, I hear the door open and close.
“I’m going to be here when you wake up.” His voice is soft coming through the speakers, yet it’s loud in my ear. “If you tell me to go then, I will. But I’m not leaving until I hear it from you.”
There’s a soft smacking sound. The flower petal softness of lips on skin. I put my fingertips to my forehead. Has anyone ever loved me like this before? Will anyone ever again?
Norma Jeane looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle at my feet. “He’s so dreamy. How could you have dumped this guy? Are you nuts?”
Maybe. I certainly feel like I’m losing my mind right now.
“You really love her, don’t you?”
I gape at the radio. That’s my mother. She’s the one who just came into the room.
“Yes, Mrs. Burton, I do.”
“Even when she’s like this? Even when she’s all banged up, and you don’t know what’s going to happen . . . you still love her?”
“I love her because of who she is, not what she looks like or how her body functions.”
Silence. Then, “Huh.”
That one syllable says it all. It’s beyond my mother’s comprehension that love doesn’t hinge on what the other person can get from you. Come to think of it, it’s beyond mine, too.
“Do you mind if I read to her?” Jake says to whoever else is in the room.
“Not at all,” my Aunt Bobbie answers him. “I like it when you read. It gives me hope that things really will turn out okay. Georgie, is that all right with you?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
I see they’ve done this before. How long has it been? How long have they been sitting by my bed, taking turns watching over me? I hear pages rustle. The rattle of a throat being cleared. Then Jake starts to read.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
He goes on, reading the psalm about a shepherd who looks after the sheep, takes care of them, protects them. It’s a spiritual metaphor about a God so big and so great that he wouldn’t let harm come to one of his children.
A shiver shimmies its way from my scalp to my toes. I had a very good reason for running away from Jake. And I can’t afford to forget it, not for a minute.
I turn down the volume and turn my back on the radio, looking straight at Norma Jeane. “No. I wasn’t nuts to leave him.”
In fact, it’s probably the sanest thing I’ve ever done.
17
Long Beach University, senior year
If it hadn’t been for Hamlet, Jake and I might never have met.
The library was the last place I wanted to be on a Friday night, especially during winter break, but there I was. As I made my way down the literature aisle, I saw a guy walking toward me from the other end. He was cute, in a bookish kind of way. Like Clark Kent, with dark, slicked back hair and sensible looking glasses. I started to smile, but stopped myself. It was time to focus. I wasn’t there trolling for guys. I was there to study. There was no way I was going to fail a lit class. Not this close to graduation.
I stopped in front of the Shakespeare section. So did the guy.
I looked up and down the shelves. So did the guy.
Finally, I saw the book I wanted. I reached out for Hamlet in Modern English. So did the guy. But at the last minute he pulled his hand back and looked at me.
“Are you here for the Hamlet book, too?” he asked.
I should have taken the opportunity to grab the book and run. But instead I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded. “Looks like we’ve got a problem. There’s only one copy left.”
He nodded back and folded his arms, just like me. I learned about that in Intro to Psychology. It’s called mirroring. People usually do it when they hope to gain your trust. This guy was going to try and sweet talk me into letting him have the book. I lifted my chin. Fat chance.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “How about we share it?”
My chin fell. “Share it?”
“Sure. I really only want to read a few passages. You can check it out and we can go get coffee somewhere and look it over. When we’re done, you can take the book home with you. What do you think?”
What did I think? I thought it was one of the more original pickup lines I’d heard. I thought he had one of the most engaging smiles I’d ever seen. I thought a cup of coffee sounded pretty good, especially if I got to look at that face across the table. But I didn’t want him to know I was thinking any of those things.
So I played it cool. “I guess we could do that.”
“Great. I’m Jake, by the way.” He held his hand out.
“Allie.” I took his hand and pumped it once, twice. He had a nice handshake, firm, but not bone crushing. And he didn’t try to hang on longer than necessary. “Do you have a car?”
He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and jingled them in front of me.
“Okay, then. Let’s go.” I took the book off the shelf, and we headed for the checkout desk.
Of the three Starbucks near the university, he chose the one that was the farthest away. The place was crowded, so I snagged a table while he got our drinks. I opened the book in front of me, but instead of reading it I watched Jake. He slouched a little as he stood in line, hands hanging in the pockets of his jacket. When he got to the front, he smiled at the girl behind the counter and she smiled back. She was clearly flirting, but I could tell Jake was simply being polite. A little zap of happiness skittered up my spine when he took his change and moved on with no further banter, no over-the-shoulder smile. The barista appeared mildly disappointed, which just zapped me again.
When Jake sat down with two tall cardboard cups, I expected him to go straight for the book. But instead, he asked about me. Where I was from, what my major was. How I ended up in a Shakespeare class in the last semester of my last year.
“Desperation. I was going over my transcripts with one of the counselors and realized I was short a couple of English credits. This class was the only one I could work into my schedule. How about you? What drove you to Hamlet?”
He took a drink and set down his cup before answering. “I thought it sounded interesting.”
“Really?” I knew there were people who studied Shakespeare because they wanted to, not because they had to. I’d heard of them. I had just never met one before.
He laughed. “Weird, I know. But I had a hole in my schedule and this class caught my eye.” He picked up the cup again and swirled around the liquid inside. “So did you.”
“I what?” I asked, fiddling with a packet of Sweet ’N Low.
“You caught my eye. I noticed you in class.”
I dropped the sweetener and sat up straight, as though someone had pushed a button and made a steel rod shoot through my spine. “Have you been stalking me?”
His eyes got wide, and he put his hand in front of his mouth to keep from spewing coffee. “No, I have not been stalking you. Am I sensing a little distrust here?”
“Maybe. But you’re getting away from the point.”
He nodded. “I did notice you in class, but I never followed you around outside of it. I sure didn’t expect to find you in the library this week.”
Not many students hung out on campus during winter break, especially those who had family in the area. But I had my reasons. There was the Shakespeare book. And there were other, more complicated reasons. Reasons I usually kept to myself. “I’ve got an apartment nearby.”
“Ah. You’ve got a roommate, I hop
e.”
“You hope?” I thought it was an odd thing for him to say, but he acted like it was perfectly natural.
“Sure. I don’t like the idea of anybody living alone. Too many weirdoes out there. I’m a big fan of the buddy system.”
“I see. Well, you’ll be happy to know that I have a very nice, perfectly sane roommate. And a dog who strikes fear in the hearts of men.”
“Good.” He put his cup to his lips, then lowered it. “Female?”
“No, male.” I said as innocently as possible. “You meant my dog, right?”
“Uh, no.” His eyes narrowed. “I meant your roommate.”
“Yes,” I answered with a laugh, “she’s female.”
“Even better.” He crossed his ankles under the table, accidentally bumping my foot. We both pretended like it didn’t happen. “Do you have any family in the area?”
I nodded. “My mom and my aunt. I’ll see them on Christmas day.” He gave me a look, as if he wondered why I wasn’t going to spend more time with them, but he didn’t want to come out and ask. Normally, I’d let that kind of thing pass. But for some reason, I felt like Jake could be trusted with a little personal information. “My mom and I don’t get along all that well. And my aunt’s a little under the weather.” That was my euphemism for Aunt Bobbie’s in the hospital after a bad reaction to Parkinson’s medication and is too weak to spend much time with visitors.
He didn’t dig for more details. Didn’t pry. But I could see that he was processing what I’d told him. “That’s hard,” he finally said.
Empathy. That was interesting. Did he know how I felt? Did he have a similar experience? “What about you? Why are you spending your Christmas vacation in the library?”
He fiddled with his cup. “Money, pure and simple. Otherwise, I’d be on the farm right now.”
Now it was my turn to choke back coffee. “You’re kidding. You’re a farm boy?”
He gave his head a slow, languid nod and slid down slightly in his chair. “Yes ma’am, I am. The family farm sits on three hundred acres just outside of the hickest hick town in Kansas.”
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