Naked

by Francine Pascal

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s me.”

  “I’m sorry, who is this? Is this Ed?”

  Shit. It wasn’t Heather. It was her mom. Why did they have to sound so much alike on the phone? Ed drew in a deep breath. “Yes, it is,” he said, adding as much polite good cheer as he could muster. “How are you, Mrs. Gannis?”

  “Well, Ed, I’m doing great. We’re all doing great.”

  Ed knew that Mrs. Gannis had the tendency to accentuate the positive when in public—in other words, to be a complete phony. They were not doing great. They were doing terribly. But pretensions of flawlessness probably went back for generations in the Gannis family. It was a little sad to think of centuries of bullshit smiles and fake laughter.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Ed said, humoring her (and postponing the inevitable). “I was worried about you guys.”

  “Oh, Ed, there’s no need to worry,” she assured him. “Phoebe’s back home from the center, and she’s doing great. And Mr. Gannis just landed a fantastic new job!”

  Ed blinked. Wow. Apparently Mrs. Gannis wasn’t just pouring on the joy for Ed’s sake. Heather certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about her dad’s getting a new job. But this was fantastic news. If Mr. Gannis was making money of his own again, then Heather wouldn’t need the cash from Ed’s settlement so badly. That would mean that Ed hadn’t destroyed Heather’s life by taking those steps in public. And that would mean maybe, just maybe, that Heather wouldn’t have to hate Ed’s guts. Could he see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel?

  “Uh. . . that’s great news, Mrs. Gannis!” he said. “I had no idea.”

  “Yes, well. We certainly needed some good news in this house.”

  “Yeah,” Ed agreed. “Is Heather home?”

  “She sure is, Ed. Hold on one second.”

  Ed sat back in his bed. His heart rate finally began to slow, and his chest began to expand more comfortably. For the first time in weeks he felt he could safely unload the enormous guilt he’d been carrying with him. He’d dropit like a sack of bricks. The state of Heather’s family no longer depended entirely on his settlement. His walking was no longer perversely tied to Heather’s survival. He was neither the hero nor the goat. He was just Ed again—plain old Ed. Maybe now he and Heather could just concentrate on salvaging their critically damaged relationship. Maybe this phone call wasn’t going to be such a nightmare after all.

  “Hello?” Heather asked.

  “Hey!” Ed blurted out. “Why didn’t you tell me about your dad and Phoebe?”

  There was dead silence on the phone.

  “Could you have waited any longer to call me?” she mumbled after a few seconds.

  Ed scowled. So much for a kinder, gentler Heather. Apparently Heather’s mood from the afternoon had stayed fully intact. Or gotten worse. He didn’t understand it. Maybe she was suffering from an unspecified illness.

  “I just. . . finished my physical therapy,” Ed lied. “But I—”

  “Where are we going to dinner?” Heather snapped.

  Ed’s pulse returned to high speed. “I. . . thought I’d pick you up.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m. . . on my way.”

  “Fine.” One small click and the line was dead.

  Ed dropped the phone on the hook. He was too confused to do anything but stand there and stare into space. But suddenly being repeatedly hit on the head with a tire iron didn’t seem so bad.

  MEMO

  To: L

  From: J

  Date: February 26

  File: 776250

  Subject: Messenger

  Messenger is in hand but showing signs of rebellion. Please advise.

  MEMO

  To: J

  From: L

  Date: February 26

  File: 776250

  Subject: Messenger

  Our potential leak is rebellion enough. Project is becoming time sensitive. Increase pressure to messenger. The warning stage has passed. Execute scare tactics.

  From: gaia13@alloymail.com

  To: smoon@alloymail.com

  Time: 8:20 P.M.

  Re: Tonight

  Sam,

  You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. I’m just staying with the Moss family for a while, and then I’ll see. . .

  I’m sorry about this morning, too. Don’t take it the wrong way. I’ve just got this little crying problem right now. Nothing to be concerned about. It will pass, I’m sure.

  I can’t see you tonight. I’ve got plans. But I’ll try to make contact tomorrow. If I can.

  —G

  opposite effect

  Suddenly she wished she were far away—back on the streets of Alphabet City, someplace where she inflicted pain instead of experiencing it.

  “YOU LOOK DIFFERENT,” PAUL MOSS said, examining Gaia from the doorway of Mary’s room. “What did you do?”

  Idiot Points

  Gaia shrugged, staring at herself in the little mirror perched on Mary’s bureau. “Nothing. I put on some fatigues,” she said. “Going to CBGB’s is like going into battle. The mosh pit can get pretty ferocious.”

  Paul laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He took a step forward, then suddenly froze. He sniffed the air. “God, it really smells like her in here.”

  Gaia’s body tensed. The smile dropped from Paul’s face. She quickly looked away, feeling her throat begin to tighten. She’d noticed the smell, too. And everything else. All of Mary’s perfume was still lined up on top of the bureau. Her jewelry was still strung along the corners of the mirror. Her clothes were still hung up in the closet. (Of course, if she really had been alive, every piece of clothing in that closet would have been strewn out across the room.) Even her computer was still sitting on her desk.

  Her parents must have had a reason for leaving the room intact. They must have felt that getting rid of the room would be like getting rid of Mary. Gaia would have handled the situation differently. She would have torn that room to shreds the minute Mary was gone. She would have turned it into a giant closet, or a darkroom, or a gym. Because she could see Mary behind her, listening to her bitch, red hair wrapped up in a giant bun on her head, pinned in place by takeout chopsticks. . .

  “I’m sorry,” Paul whispered.

  “Me too,” Gaia breathed, her voice catching. She looked back at Paul, who was still frozen at one step into the room. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, not quite sure what was holding him back.

  “I don’t come in here,” Paul mumbled.

  Nice. Chalk upsome more idiot points. Gaia slapped her hand on her forehead and ran it back through her hair. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I understand. I’m such a moron—”

  “No, Gaia, it’s fine,” Paul assured her, waving his hands and giving her a warm smile. “It’s not a big deal. It’s . . .” Paul looked around the room slowly and then back at Gaia. “I don’t know, when I walk in here, it feels like she should just be here. Like she should be standing right where you’re standing . . .”

  “Yeah,” Gaia agreed. Suddenly she wished she were far away—back on the streets of Alphabet City, someplace where she inflicted pain instead of experienced it.“You’re right. . . .”

  “No, no, no,” Paul said. “It’s fine, Gaia, please. Relax.”

  Gaia stood there, immobilized. She couldn’t think of any aspect of this scenario that wasn’t awkward. How could she possibly relax? What did she know about families and brothers? What did she know about grieving with other people? Next to nothing. Since the age of twelve Gaia had only grieved alone—for her mother, for her disappearing father, even for Mary. It was the only way Gaia knew how to cope. All she wanted was to take Paul’s mind off his sadness, more even than she wanted to forget her own. But everything she said or did was only having the opposite effect. The mere fact of her being in Mary’s room seemed only to be making things worse.

  “Paul,” she said, knowing no other approach but the direct one. “Maybe I shouldn’
t be here. I mean, there are a lot of other places I could—”

  “What?” Paul interrupted. “What are you talking about? You just got here.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Gaia . . .” He walked into the room and sat down on Mary’s bed. She could see his features tightening, see the way he fought his discomfort with every movement. “It’s like I said at dinner. We want you to be here. I mean, we’re all getting a little sick of just talking to each other, anyway.”

  Gaia let out a small laugh. “You sound just like her.”

  Of course, this remark just led to another depressing and awkward silence. She racked her brain for a way to change the mood. What would she have done for herself? What would she have done if she were alone? That was really her only frame of reference.

  “Okay, here’s what I think,” she said, sitting down on the bed. “I think when one of us gets too sad, we should just tell the other, and then we should immediately go do something completely random.”

  The words came from nowhere; Gaia was simply listening to herself speak. She couldn’t believe how frank and presumptuous she was being. She’d made no mention of her own existential woes before this point. And it wasn’t as if Paul had announced his depression or even made any attempt to share it with her. She barely knew him.

  But she knew they were connected. Mary connected them.

  “Sounds good,” he said, catching Gaia off guard with his own frankness. “When do we start?”

  Gaia breathed an internal sigh of relief. For some reason, her potentially ludicrous suggestion had made as much sense to Paul as it did to her. But when she thought about it, she knew why it had made so much sense to them both: it was exactly what Mary would have done.

  “Uh. . . we can start now?” she offered.

  “Okay,” Paul agreed. He took a long, thoughtful pause before locking eyes with Gaia. “Actually. . . I think I’m okay right now.”

  Gaia took her own moment of self-examination before she spoke. “Yeah,” she concluded with the slightest hint of a smile. “Me too.”

  HEATHER WAITED FOR ED TO speak—keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, gazing down Houston Street at the remnants of the sunset. She tried to walk as slowly as possible so that he could keep up on his crutches, but her desire to stomp was difficult to suppress. They’d walked for blocks, and he still hadn’t said a word. Not one apology, not one “I love you.” With each block she felt smaller and more humiliated. And angrier. Definitely angrier.

  Buried

  “Well, where are we going to dinner?” she forced herself to ask. She’d spent a fair amount of time getting dressed up for the evening.

  “Um . . .” He obviously hadn’t even planned a place. “Without that big settlement, I was thinking more along the lines of falafel.”

  Heather stopped their walk. “Falafel?” she spat.

  “A joke,” Ed said, with a pathetic smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. “Remember jokes?”

  “It’s not funny,” Heather replied. She couldn’t have imagined a worse joke for Ed to pick.

  “I’m sorry,” Ed said. At least he’d finally said it. “Why don’t we just walk until we find a place? I’m trying to walk as much as possible.”

  Heather’s face darkened. She scrutinized his features, searching for any hint of regret or remorse for having brought up the walking once again—but she didn’t see a thing. Incredible. He didn’t even realize that he was rubbing his broken promise in her face. He was that clueless. It was pretty disturbing, actually. Heather had always thought of Ed as a very bright guy. But maybe he’d left his brains wherever he’d dumped his wheelchair.

  “What?” Ed asked.

  She shrugged and kept walking. “Nothing.”

  “You know what, Heather?” he said with a grunt, plodding on his crutches. “I thought maybe you’d be less angry at me since your dad got a job—”

  “It’s not about money, Ed!” Heather snapped, stopping cold again. “This isn’t about that at all, all right? It’s about breaking promises.”

  “Okay, okay,” Ed whispered, glancing furtively from side to side to make sure no passersby could hear them. “Will you calm down? I’ve told you how sorry I am. I don’t know what else I can do, Heather. There was a slight situation, you know? Life-and-death-type stuff? I just reacted. I barely even knew I was walking.”

  “Of course,” Heather hissed, laughing spitefully. “Gaia Moore! The damsel in distress! How could she possibly have saved herself?”

  Ed groaned. “She’s my friend, Heather. I thought she was going to die, for chrissake.”

  “Yeah, well, she didn’t seem so concerned about my life when she let me stroll right into the park, knowing I was going to get slashed. Or have you forgotten about that, too?”

  It was funny: until that very moment, Heather hadn’t even realized that her current slew of problems had completely overshadowed a whole batch of prior resentments. When her sister was still trying to recover from anorexia and her family was just barely recovering from near bankruptcy, Heather hardly had time to think about all the ways Gaia Moore had tried to hurt her. But now it was all coming back in a flood of righteous anger: the way Gaia had stolen Sam from her (not that they were right for each other, but that wasn’t the point). . . but mostly the way Gaia had let her walk right into a situation that could have gotten her killed.

  Nothing would ever make her forget that attack in Washington Square. Nothing. She easily could have died, and if she had, it would have been for one reason and one reason only: Gaia Moore was a bitch who only cared about herself. Gaia couldn’t have cared less if Heather lived or died that night, so if Ed thought that saving Gaia from her own pathetic and violent life was going to be a good enough reason to betray Heather, he’d better think again.

  “I didn’t forget my promise,” he insisted quietly. “I tried to keep the promise. I even made Gaia keep my secret. How was I supposed to know someone else would see me and spread it all over school?”

  “You shouldn’t have to know, Ed!” Heather shouted. “Because you should have been with me, not with her.”

  “What?”

  Heather slapped her hands down to her sides, and her entire body froze on the corner of Houston and Sullivan. And then her mouth took over. “Wake up, Ed! This isn’t just about betraying me. It’s about whom you betrayed me for. Note my correct usage of ‘whom.’ Because I’m not an idiot, Ed. I’m not a blind idiot. You’re in love with her. Do you think I’m so narcissistic that I haven’t seen that?”

  “Heather—”

  “And I don’t even know how you feel about me, Ed. I really don’t. I mean, you can’t really trust me if you still blame me.”

  Ed paused. He blinked several times rapidly, glaring at her in the fading sunlight. His face seemed to go pale. “For what?” he demanded.

  “The accident, Ed,” she said. And until the words were out there, dangling between them like a wrecking ball, she hadn’t even realized she was going to bring it up. But she had lost control. She was too upset to think rationally. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know you still blame me; we just don’t talk about it. It’s just buried there, right under the surface, like this rotting corpse stinking up our entire relationship.” Her throat was so tight, she could barely finish. “If you don’t know that by now, that’s your problem, not mine.”

  She sniffed violently and wiped her face—and to her surprise, her hand came back wet. She hadn’t even realized she was crying. Maybe she should just quit while she was ahead and get the hell away from him. After all, she’d pretty much said everything she had to say. And a lot of things she hadn’t wanted to say. Now she just wanted to go home.

  Ed’s expression was oddly serious and resigned. “Nothing you just said was true,” he stated.

  “I’m out of here,” she said, nearly whispering—not for dramatic effect, only out of weakness.

  “I’ll take you.” Ed reached from his crutch
to take Heather’s hand.

  “Don’t,” she said, shrinking away from him. And then, before she even knew it, she was sprinting east down Houston Street—toward the night that was fast approaching.

  ED

  You’d think after all these months, I would have figured out what the hell goes on in the mind of Gaia Moore, but this morning proved once again that I have absolutely no clue.

  I mean, sure, there are those days when she brings new meaning to the word bitchy, but I’m used to that. I know what that looks like. But that has nothing to do with what was going on this morning.

  I’ve played the whole thing over so many times, and I still cannot figure out what I said to piss her off. I wasn’t talking about Heather—that always pisses her off. I wasn’t joking about her wardrobe—that’s a great way to get her all riled up. Was it about what happened in the park? She hates it when I try to be the hero. But I don’t think so. She was grateful for that day. I know she was.

  Unless it did have something to do with the crutches. They were really the only thing that made this morning different from any other morning. Maybe she was just pissed to find out I was taller than she was—which, I must admit, I found quite enjoyable. But that couldn’t possibly be what was making her so distant.

  And that last moment we had before Heather showed up? It felt like someone had just plugged me into an electrical socket. What the hell was that about?

  I mean, I’m not stupid, I know what that was about for me. I’m not a five-year-old. I know what it feels like when two people have that. . .

  No. Bullshit. All this hobbling is just screwing with my brain. We didn’t have that kind of moment. I mean, maybe I did, but she was way too busy hating my guts to be having that kind of moment.

  Why am I even bothering to try and figure her out now, anyway? Heather just ditched me. She just brought up a shitload of memories that I’d much rather forget.

  So maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s just because I don’t want to think about Heather at all.

  chaos

  That merciless feeling was growing inside her again—the same feeling she’d had the night before, the impulse to use more force than necessary.