Love Show

by Audrey Bell

  “You really don't need to make excuses for him," I said.

  “No, I’m not saying he should have hit me. But we just got into a fight. It’s like fighting my brother, you know?” he said, like I’d understand.

  I refused to accept that. But it wasn’t the time for an argument. I bit my lip and we were quiet until the credits rolled. David sat there quietly, as another commercial played.

  “I really like him,” he said after a moment. “I know you think I’m being insane, but I really, really like him. I need you to trust me on this. It was just a fight. He’s not, you know, abusive.”

  I inhaled sharply. “David, I can’t tell you that it’s okay that he did that.”

  “Fine. But please don’t try to talk me into breaking up with him. Because I’m telling you right now that it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to give up on it yet.”

  “Making you hide who you are? Isolating you from your friends? Hitting you? These are not the actions of someone who loves you,” I said hoarsely. “I am not going to sit around and tell you to put up with it.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Hads,” he said, with a touch of his former flair in his voice. “I wouldn’t stay with someone who was dangerous. It looks bad, but it’s not what you think. I need you to trust me. Okay?"

  I met his eyes and I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to scream at myself as much as I wanted to scream at him. It was definitely not okay for anyone to hit my best friend. And it was especially not okay for his so-called boyfriend to do it. And the least okay part about it was that David was going to accept it.

  "Okay," I said. I swallowed and he nodded gratefully.

  I was old enough to know that very few things in life were as black and white as they seemed when you were a kid. But this was one of them. This didn’t happen. It shouldn’t. It was wrong.

  But, I said okay when I knew I shouldn't have.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Somewhere, somehow, I lost my backbone,” I told Jack, lying on his bed, in his boxers and one of his flannel shirts. I was totally starting to understand how someone could wear them everyday.

  Jack was quiet. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I was on my back looking up at the cracked ceiling with my head in Jack’s lap, and I wanted to stay here forever, which was probably against one of our rules. “David’s boyfriend beat him up."

  Jack was quiet for a brief second. “Well, who the fuck is his boyfriend?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Well, I can’t kill him if you don’t tell me who he is.”

  I grinned briefly. “I told David I wouldn’t. He’s in the closet and I guess he’s terrified of anyone finding out,” I said. “But he, I mean, his eye is swollen shut. David said it was a fight. And he did this whole long thing where he was like I just need you to trust me on this. And I said okay, of all the unbelievably stupid things to say, I was just like, okay, David, that’s fine with me that your douche bag boyfriend beat you up, and that you can’t see out of one eye, and that you’re an emotional wreck. No worries. Love is love.” I sighed. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

  Jack made a noise in the back of his throat. “Well, what else could you do?”

  “I don’t know. Get him to understand that’s it’s not okay.”

  “Well, I still think you have a backbone,” Jack said softly. “And I can beat the shit out of his boyfriend.”

  I gave him a look.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I could get violent for you.”

  “For David,” I corrected.

  “I could get violent for David, too. I have a car.”

  I laughed. “What are you going to do with a car?”

  “Run him over. Go bury him. Drop him in the lake. I can do it, baby,” Jack whispered, pressing his lips to my forehead. “Just tell me, baby.”

  “Do not—”

  “I’m allowed to call you ‘baby’ when I’m pretending to be a criminal. That’s how criminals talk,” Jack said. He smiled, but only briefly. He looked at me, like he was thinking: “You want to report it?” he asked after a moment.

  “To who?”

  “I don’t know. The police? Campus Health? CAPS?” CAPS was the mental health crisis center on campus. I hadn’t even thought about that. “I’m sure they have some kind of process you can use.”

  “David would kill me if I got this guy in trouble.”

  Jack shrugged. “Yeah, maybe at first.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. He’s my best friend. I do trust him.”

  “Are you worried about David’s safety?”

  “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Psychologically, a little bit. I mean, David was—he was different before he started seeing him. He was happy to be gay. Now, he feels like he has to hide it.”

  “But he said they got into a fight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe it was just a fight.”

  “David didn’t hit him back.”

  Jack frowned. “Maybe David needs to take some boxing lessons.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said, frowning. "I'll run it by him."

  Jack rubbed his chin. "Have you talked to him about it?"

  "Not since Thursday."

  "Well, talk to him. I mean the best thing would be David deciding this guy was a problem."

  "Yeah," I agreed. I shook my head. "I don't know. Sorry to burden you. It's just disturbing. Aside from newspaper people, David's my only friend. And I feel like, I don't know, I should be doing a better job."

  “Hads, you know you’re doing your best.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He ran his hand through my hair and leaned down to kiss me. It was an affectionate kiss more than anything else and I smiled up at him for a long minute.

  “So, you still like Riley’s class?” Jack asked, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “What does he have you report on?” Jack asked. “Since you’re obviously not at war with anyone.”

  “He tries to get us to write about things that are chaotic,” I said. “Like, write an accurate account of a time when you were totally wasted.”

  Jack laughed. “How do you even remember enough to do that?”

  “Exactly. And how do you not make yourself sound like a total asshole?”

  Jack smiled. “I think I like you when you’re drunk.”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me really drunk.”

  “The night we first hooked up…?” He grinned.

  “Oh, no. You’ve definitely never seen me really drunk,” I said. “I’m not nice.”

  He chuckled and shifted my head out of his lap. I sat up as he got to his feet. “I’d like to see that, actually. It could be fun.”

  I watched him go to his desk and pull down a book. His books—and he had over a hundred—were neatly organized above his desk. And the ones that didn’t fit there lined a bookcase by his bed. I hadn’t encountered anyone with as many books as Jack. Most students only bought books required for their classes. But Jack had more books than any professor could assign, and all of them looked like they had been read.

  “I got something for you,” he muttered over his shoulder, half-bashful. “I mean, I didn’t get it for you. I’ve had it. But, I think you’d like it.” He moved a few books around and found the one he was looking for. “Here,” he said, handing me a worn out copy of The Bombs over Bosnia, a collection of Robert Riley’s articles on Bosnia.

  I took it, surprised and grateful. “Wow. How did you get…” I cut myself off. “Godfather, right?”

  “Yup. I have a couple copies. That's a first edition," he said. He rubbed his chin and shrugged. "Thought you might like it."

  I had a copy of the paperback at home. I could've said I already had it, but it wouldn't be true at all. This copy was worn and read and possibly even loved, like the best books should be. And it was Jack’s.

  I thumbed through the pages. Someone had crinkled them w
hile they were reading. Maybe over and over again. I saw Jack’s familiar handwriting in the margins and ran my fingers across the words. When I looked up, he was watching me.

  “Thank you, Jack.”

  “I don’t know if that’s against the rules or not,” he said sheepishly.

  “Books are cool,” I replied.

  “Okay,” he grinned. “Good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean…I already had it. It’s not like…” he lifted his shoulders and sat down at his desk.

  I laughed. “Alright.” I set it gently down next to my bag and clothes and got out of bed.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Newsp—”

  “You know, I am really getting sick of that word.”

  “Tell me about it,” I replied.

  He smiled as I traded his clothes for my less comfortable ones. “You know, you could sleep over.”

  “Rules.”

  “How is it that sleeping in the same bed means more to you than sex?”

  “It doesn’t mean more to me,” I told him, buttoning my jeans and slipping my feet into my Converse sneakers.

  “I mean, even you must have the time to sleep.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes. In my own bed.” I kissed him briefly and he reached for my wrist. I held the book he’d given me in one hand and looked into his brown eyes. And I leaned in for another kiss.

  I loved the way he kissed me. But this felt more serious, deeper and longer, and we held each other’s eyes for a long moment before I cleared my throat and felt a flush rushing to my face. I turned my head.

  “See you around, Hads.”

  "See you around, Jack."

  He smiled. "If you need anything, you know, just pick up the phone."

  I nodded and smiled back. “I will.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It would be my last winter of walking across the long, cold campus from the parking lot to the newspaper office. While there were things I would miss about Northwestern, the weather wasn’t one of them. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I reached down, hoping to see Jack’s name lighting up the screen. But it was just Andrew.

  Does 8 still work for dinner tonight?

  I made a frustrated noise in the back of my throat. I'd forgotten. I typed out a response with my frozen fingers: Maybe 8:15? Meet you at the newspaper in 5.

  “Hey,” I said breathlessly when I reached my office. Andrew was waiting patiently, thumbing through the draft of tomorrow’s issue. "I just have to talk to Justin for two seconds and then we can go."

  “Sure, no worries."

  He was in khakis and a button down. I was actually wearing sweatpants. “You had somewhere nicer in mind?”

  He looked at my outfit hesitantly. “Yeah. I made reservations at Mill House. Is that okay?"

  One of the most elegant and expensive restaurants in Evanston. I nodded once. “Sure. Um. Great. I’ll just…” Mill House was the sort of place you went with your parents. If your parents were super uptight.

  As if to make a point, my phone vibrated and I glanced at the screen.

  Jack.

  Is skydiving against the rules?

  I raised my eyebrows and began to type back.

  “Change?” Andrew finished my sentence.

  I looked up. "Right. Sorry. I'll change. I just, five words with Justin, okay?"

  "Yeah, sure. Take your time."

  I crossed the office to Justin's computer.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Attribution issues?

  "Yeah, sorry," he said. "So, I have this on-the-record quote from an athletic coach who said I couldn't identify him by name or by what sport he coached. He said I could say he was a head coach of a varsity team, but no other identifiers.”

  "This is on the budget for 2014?" I asked. They'd recently diverted several million dollars earmarked for the football team to programs that would impact the student body.

  "Yeah," he said. "I think it's critical enough that anonymity is okay here."

  I read it over quickly:

  "The administration is trying to send a message. I'm not going to name names, but there've been repeated attacks on our program from administrators across the board—everyone from admissions officers to academic deans. The university refuses to acknowledge how important we are to alums. This happened before, in 2007, and it damaged the football program and that, in turn, damaged the endowment because alumni giving went down in 2008. It's not good policy to use the athletic budget for unfunded programs in the college."

  I shook my head. "You can use everything but the first two sentences. He’s telling us the administration is trying to send a message, but if he won’t back it up with anything specific and he won’t put his name behind it, we can’t run it. He can’t just editorialize on the situation anonymously.”

  "Yeah. Okay," Justin said.

  "And point out the fact that there was a financial crisis in 2008," I added. "And that giving to universities across the country went down."

  "Yeah," Justin nodded. "Good point." He cut part of the quote and we both scanned the article again to see if it still made sense.

  “I think that looks good,” I said. “I’ve got to run. Text me if anything else comes up.”

  “I will. Thanks, Hadley. Have fun.”

  “Thanks!”

  I hustled back to Andrew. "Sorry, ready?"

  He nodded. “Let’s go.”

  I followed him down the stairs and pulled out my phone to text Jack: Skydiving is totally legal.

  Excellent. You in? Saturday?

  I bit my lip. Sure.

  I slipped my phone into my pocket and walked out into the bitter chill to Andrew’s car. He drove a fancy, new Range Rover. His dad was some kind of oil magnate—something Andrew would never tell you, but Google quickly would.

  He turned on the heat and I shivered.

  "I feel like I haven't seen as much of you lately," Andrew said, driving towards my apartment.

  "Really?" I asked. “I’m at the newspaper office like every day.”

  "I know, but you used to come to the bar nights. I don't think you've been to one all year."

  I smiled. "I'll come to the next one."

  He parked next to the apartment building. "You should. They're fun."

  "I'll come," I promised. I glanced at the time. "I'll be quick. Promise."

  Andrew nodded. "No rush."

  I jogged upstairs quickly, trying to think of something to wear to Mill House.

  The lights were on in our apartment and I heard the TV blaring as I kicked off my sneakers and walked in.

  “David,” I shouted. “I need help.”

  There was a loud crash as I tossed my keys on the table and I shrieked in surprise. David was shirtless and he looked petrified and I could see Ben Mitchell hiding behind the couch. A movie was playing.

  I hope he hurt himself, I thought uncharitably. I caught my breath. “Jesus, David, you scared me. What should I wear to Mill House?”

  “Hadley,” he said in a small voice. “Um, I thought you were at the paper?"

  I glanced at Ben. “There’s a person on the floor.”

  Ben got to his feet. He glared at David. "You said we'd be alone."

  “She knows," David said, sounding tired.

  “She knows?” Ben said explosively.

  “I don’t care, I’m not going to say anything, and I’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement if you’re going to get that worked up about it,” I informed Ben icily. I turned my attention to David who still looked completely startled. “Mill House, David. Focus.”

  “Black dress, leggings, boots. That knit dress. With the bow. Long-sleeved. Are your parents in town?”

  “No," I said.

  “When did she find out?” Ben asked David. I didn’t like his tone of voice. It was astoundingly accusatory.

  I really should have given Jack Ben’s name when he offered to run him over.

  "She
won't say anything,” David said softly.

  “She’d better not,” he muttered.

  Was that a threat? “Trust me, I have better things to do than talk about your sexuality, Ben,” I said.

  “Hadley!” David exclaimed.

  I walked to my room. I put on the exact outfit David had suggested: a long-sleeved knit dress, soft black leggings and black boots. I looked in the mirror, put my hair down, grimaced, and put my hair back up. There wasn’t much I could do about my hair. It liked to lie limp, and I didn’t have the patience to encourage it to behave in any other way.

  Ben and David were talking in low voices when I emerged, twisting my hair into a low bun.

  “I’m really sorry,” David was saying. “I swear. She’s the only person who knows. Okay?”

  I was really starting to despise this kid. I’d hated him ever since he hit David, but now he was moving into full-blown enemy combatant territory.

  “Who is taking you to Mill House?” David asked cheerily.

  “Andrew.”

  He smiled. “Aw, that’s awesome, Hadley.”

  I looked at him curiously. “Yeah, it’ll be nice to get out of the office for a while.”

  "So, you're not seeing Jack anymore?"

  "What?" I asked.

  David raised his eyebrows. "You're going on a date with Andrew Brenner, right?"

  "It's not a date. We're talking about some special issue in February." I exhaled. "For Valentine's Day."

  "Riight," David said. "At Mill House."

  I looked at him. "No, no, no. You're...you're confused. It's Andrew. It's for the newspaper.”

  David chuckled. “You can’t be serious, Hadley. He’s taking you to Mill House. That is a date.”

  “It is not a date.”

  "I bet you twenty dollars he tries to kiss you."

  "I’m going. It’s not a date,” I said, opening the door. “Goodbye.”

  I took a deep breath in the hallway. I was going to dinner with Andrew. A meal. Nothing more. Nothing less. We would talk about the newspaper. That was it. Definitely not a date.

  The night winds off the lake blew ferociously as I walked to the car. The hair I had pushed behind my ears flew wildly. I felt Andrew watching me as I opened the door and pulled it shut.