Someone to Love

by Norma Fox Mazer

  Dazzled—Nickiepie, indeed!—Nina gave back what she hoped was an approximation of a sophisticated smile.

  “It ought to be a little different from the usual run of articles,” Professor Lehman said. “At any rate, from anything I’ve published before. Well, what do you think, Miss Bloom?”

  What did she think? She thought he was incredible. She thought she was sensationally lucky. And that this was a job like no job she’d ever had before. “It’s going to be a wonderful article,” she cried. Oh, God. She kept saying wonderful and perfect and whinnying like a twelve-year-old.

  “I’m pleased so far. I think it’ll create a bit of a stir, too. More than anything I’ve published previously.”

  “Have you written a lot of books?”

  “Articles. Most of them too technical to be of interest to you.”

  Should she tell him her dream of someday being a writer? What would she say? Just come out with it? Professor Lehman, someday I want to write, too. But what if it sounded as if she were apple polishing? Maybe she should ask his advice. Do you think I could be a writer? How would he know? All he’d seen were a few papers she’d handed in—and gotten B’s on. It wasn’t even as if she were one of the outstanding students.

  He pointed to a stack of magazines on a shelf. “Those are the journals I’ve been published in.” He handed her one, and she flipped through it, reading titles. “A Celebration of George Wilde” … “Reality and Sanity in the Novels of Hortensia Haywood” … “A Second Look at Diana Askyniv’s ‘The Water Chorale’”… A vast wave of humble relief rolled over her. The moment for her to say anything about her own dream had passed, and thank God she had kept her mouth shut. Swayed by that radiant warmth in his blue eyes, she had wanted, like a puppy dog, to impress him on his own territory.

  “Anything you’d like to ask now, Miss Bloom?”

  She wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans. “When do you want me to start work?”

  He smiled. “Not only a woman of few words, but of action. How about right now?”

  Nina rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter. It was an old machine, the keys faded, the black body covered with silver scratches. She typed a sentence or two.

  “Let me see your hands,” Nicholas Lehman said.

  Startled, she held them out. He took hold of her fingertips. “You bite your nails. You’re too old to bite your nails.”

  “No, I cut them with a nail clipper, that’s why they’re down so low.” She laughed nervously. “I cut them so I won’t bite them.”

  “Good. I don’t like to see bitten fingernails.”

  She began typing, bending over one of the yellow pads. “He wrote to Masters in one of those lengthy letters of his, ‘Nell is looking over the pages for me and making some corrections and suggestions here and there. The brazen thing is even putting in a few additions. I must admit…’”

  “Good. Excellent.” Standing behind her, Nicholas Lehman touched Nina lightly on the shoulder. And just then, looking up, she saw through the window, low in the bit of darkening sky, an improbably romantic sliver of silver moon. And in the same moment she remembered that last night she had dreamed about Mitch. Dreamed they were in a boat, and smiling at her, he had said, “You remind me of my sister, of Trissy. And that’s a compliment, Nins.” “I do?” she had said. “I don’t look like her at all, at all.” And she woke herself up, laughing. Then, a moment later, she had realized the happiness of the dream was a lie—or a wish.

  Chapter Nine

  “For you.” Nina thrust a little potted plant into Mitch’s hand.

  “Hello,” he said, staring at her.

  “Hello.” She stared back. Are you going to humble yourself? Lynell had said. And Nina, edgy, had flared, How the hell do I know, Lynell? Humble herself? No. Just going to find out what the devil was happening. So maybe she’d make a fool of herself. But … she couldn’t let this stupid quarrel go on any longer. Five days, and nothing. Not a call, not a word. Nothing from him, nothing from her. All week she’d been telling herself, I have my pride. But this morning she had awakened in a panic, thinking, He’s sick! He’s had an accident! Then she argued with herself. You’re just looking for an excuse to go over there. But what if this panic meant something? What if it was like ESP, and he really was sick—and only stupid pride kept her from going to him?

  “This is a surprise,” he said.

  “Mmmm—” She looked at him closely. He was wearing chinos and a yellow T-shirt. Bare feet. Sleepy-looking brown eyes. He sure didn’t look sick. He looked, well, yummy. So good that Nina’s stomach flip-flopped. And then, the way he was standing there, holding the plant she’d thrust into his hand, with a startled, almost silly expression on his face, got to her. Just got to her. Damn. It brought out the maternal in her. Made her want to hug him close, reassure him, tell him it was okay to look silly; and she loved him, loved him, even if he was a jealous mutt.

  “Well … are you going to ask me in?” she said more flirtatiously than she’d intended. What she meant to do was confront him, get things out in the open, ask for straightforward answers to straightforward questions. The plant had been a last-minute impulse.

  “Oh. Oh, sure! Come on in. The place is sort of—” He waved a hand. Sort of, indeed. It was a major disaster area. Clothes everywhere, bed rumpled, dirty dishes all over the table, empty wine bottle, soda cans, books, newspapers, and a bunch of other junk littering the floor. The radio was tuned to a rock station, playing loud enough, as her mother would say, to wake the dead.

  Mitch looked around, set the plant down on the windowsill.

  “Right, it likes light,” Nina said.

  “Who is this strange-looking guy, anyway? What’s his name?”

  “Polka-dot plant.”

  “Pink plant?”

  “It’s green; just the spots are pink.”

  “It looks diseased.”

  “Give it back if you don’t like it!”

  “Well, come on, do you have to get so mad?” He sounded uneasy. “You get mad at the drop of a hat. You know that? You know that, Nina?”

  “Oh, really?” Her initial warmth fled. She eyed him coolly. Looked like he hadn’t shaved all week. Probably hadn’t showered, either. “Well, maybe I get mad fast, but I get over it fast, too. And I don’t hold grudges,” she added pointedly.

  “You think I do?” He picked up a shirt, sniffed it, then stuffed it into a laundry bag hanging from a doorknob.

  “What else am I supposed to think? Either that, or you don’t give a damn about us. That’s what I think—you don’t give a damn. Not about me. Not about us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said defensively.

  “Oh, sure you do. Don’t, please don’t come on all innocent with me. We had a fight, and I haven’t seen you since then.”

  “You told me to go away. You said it, Nina. Go away.”

  “So what?”

  “So I took you at your word.”

  “Oh, God. I don’t believe this.”

  “I don’t need that. I don’t need another brush-off.”

  “Another brush-off. When did I ever—”

  “Not you.”

  “Well, who are we talking about?”

  “Look, I told you about Muriel—”

  “Muriel!”

  “Right. Muriel. I told you she … I told you what happened.…”

  “She broke off with you.”

  “So you do remember?”

  “Yes, it was a rotten deal. I don’t know how you ever got mixed up with her in the first place. She sounded totally insensitive. But I’m not Muriel. Okay? This is Nina! Nina, you dope, you!”

  “Did you come over here to fight again?”

  “Oh, hold on, hold on. I didn’t start that whole thing. And it didn’t come out of nowhere, either. Something was going on with you, remember? You were just a little, little bit mad and jealous, huh? Huh, Mitch? Huh, Mitch?”

  “Slow down! Sure I got upset
; I admit it. I got upset when I heard about that other guy.”

  “But that’s crazy! Totally irrational.” Now it seemed they were going to have the all-out fight they had avoided last week. Good. She was ripe for a fight. In all trust and faith she had told him about Bobby Sadler—not to make him jealous, not to build herself up, not to boast, for God’s sake, but to share with him one of the painful memories of her growing-up years. And in return she’d gotten first a jealous outburst, then a week of silence and being ignored. And who had broken that silence? Not Mitch.

  “I suppose it’s rational to dig up the past!”

  “Dig up—! You asked me.”

  “And you told me all right. Didn’t skip a detail.”

  Now she was stung. “I hurt your tender feelings? Well, who—gives—a—!” She snapped her fingers in his face. “It happened five years ago.”

  “Yeah? Well, you talked like it was yesterday. God damn, you were smiling. You enjoyed that whole memory.”

  “I did not!”

  “I say you did.”

  “And I say you were the one who got us started on all that. ‘What was the worst year of your adolescence?’ That’s just what you said. Like a … a … a … sociology professor! Next you’ll tell me it’s okay for guys to screw around, but girls should be virgins.”

  “You’re being ridiculous and emotional. You’re not making sense. Let me tell you something! I didn’t rub your nose in what happened with me and Muriel, and Shelley.”

  “Oh, Muriel and Shelley,” she said.

  He smiled calmly, infuriating her further. Imagine, calling her emotional!

  “I could have described them if I wanted to,” he went on. “I could tell you about Shelley’s hair—long, red-gold color, really gorgeous. Or the way Muriel had of moving her butt around in this cute, sassy way. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to compare.”

  “How smug,” she burst out. “You just did tell me. You just managed to tell me. Now tell me something else. Are you going to flip anytime I look at another guy? Is that what it is?”

  “Yes, probably,” he said. “Probably I will flip, I’ll go crazy, I’ll beat you up, okay? Does that satisfy you?”

  “Don’t you dare ever touch me,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Don’t you dare ever touch me, ever lay a hand on me. You wouldn’t last one second with me if you ever got rough. I don’t go for that, I hate that, I think it’s sick and disgusting!”

  “Oh, calm down, Nina,” he said. “You’re so easy to bait. Do you really think I’d hit you? You think I’m that sort of guy? Is that what you think? If that’s what you think, you might as well check out right now.”

  “Well, thanks a lot. Thanks a whole big bunch,” she said inadequately. She was close to tears. Why had she come here? Why had she brought the plant? A humble gesture. Are you going to humble yourself?

  On the radio someone was singing in a husky voice; the words, pleading and emotional, slipped between them. “Last night, we had a misunderstandin’ … This mornin’, baby, I’m sufferin’ …”

  “We better talk,” Mitch said. He rocked back on his heels. A judicious pose. He wasn’t close to tears.

  “Just tell me … do you want … does it even matter …” she stuttered. Then, explosively, “I don’t think you care if we make up or not!”

  “Would I say we should talk if I didn’t care?”

  “Well … well … what about it then? What about this whole week? Where were you?”

  “Where were you?”

  “I’m here now.”

  “Yeah.” He picked up the green wine bottle, tipped it over his mouth. A few drops fell out. “I don’t know. You got so mad at me. I couldn’t deal with it.”

  “I couldn’t deal with your jealousy.”

  “Well, it’s—I guess being jealous isn’t so good, but it’s natural. I mean, you might have tried to understand, been more understanding and—”

  “I guess you think it was all my fault.” Her lips trembled. “Is that what you’re saying? Well, I resent that.” She slapped the table, her cheeks burned. Only don’t let me cry, she thought, please. “I really resent that, Mitch.”

  “God, you’re still angry, aren’t you? You’re really, really still pissed.”

  To her surprise, at that moment she did begin to cry, but when he came to her, she pushed him away. “No! Don’t! Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”

  He sat down on the bed and watched her. “What the hell is going on, Nina?”

  “I wish I knew,” she choked. “I’m not getting much help from you, either.” She wiped her face. Then for a couple of minutes they just looked at each other, while on the radio somebody kept singing about love.

  “I want a drink of water,” Nina muttered, feeling drained. She went into the kitchen and drank thirstily. She filled the glass again and watered the polka-dot plant. “Plant likes water. Plant’s happy I’m watering it.”

  “Give me a drink,” Mitch said.

  “A drink?” Nina turned to look at him. “I’d like to dump this right on you,” she said, and spilled the rest of the water over his head.

  He looked utterly surprised. Nina couldn’t hold back a whinny of manic laughter. His curls flattened out, his face dripped, and a large damp spot appeared on his T-shirt. “Oh, I did it,” she said, trying vainly to check her laughter.

  “Well, now—” Mitch stood, shaking his head like a dog. “That does it, that really does it. You’re just asking for it.” He smiled.

  “Mitch—” She leaped back, stumbled over a pile of clothes, and then he had her.

  “You’re just asking for it,” he repeated. He hugged her hard, the breath went out of her, but she couldn’t stop laughing at how surprised he’d looked when she dumped the water on him.

  “Mitch … no … Come on, it was just … just a joke …” She was still laughing as they fell down on the bed together.

  Chapter Ten

  “Did you bring your laundry?” Mitch picked up his duffel bag.

  “Left it downstairs in the hall.” Nina popped his painter’s cap on her head.

  “Do you have change for the machines?” He pulled the cap down over her eyes. “I’m all out.”

  She rattled her pockets. “My treat.”

  They went down the stairs arm in arm. Since they had made up their fight, they spent even more time together than before. They both noticed that they had grown closer, were nicer to each other and more careful of each other’s feelings.

  Just before Thanksgiving Nina had called home and spoken to her mother. “Ma? I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can come back for the holiday. I’ve got tons of work …” True enough—she was behind in her reading and had two papers overdue—but the real reason was that she and Mitch hadn’t wanted to be separated.

  “It won’t be the same without you, Nina,” her mother had said. “Just Nancy, the little boys, and Grandma. Our table is shrinking every year.”

  Nina had weakened. “Maybe I should come home, Ma. I could study at home, too.”

  “No, no,” her mother said firmly. “If it would be distracting to you, I don’t want you to do that. We’ll see you over Christmas. Right now your school work is more important.”

  Half relieved, half ashamed, Nina had wanted to say, Ma, don’t be so nice to me! Instead, guiltily, she had lingered on the phone, asking about everyone in the family. Her mother had finally ended the conversation. “This is going to cost a fortune. Write a letter next time, Nina.”

  “Hot. Full. Normal load.” Mitch punched buttons.

  “Did I tell you that Professor Lehman said he would teach me to play racquetball sometime?” Nina poured in the soap.

  “Nickiepie said that?”

  “Mmm.” Nina regretted telling Kim Ogun’s nickname for Nicholas Lehman.

  “Why’d he say that?”

  “He knows I’ve never played, and he thinks it’s the greatest game—”

  “It’s okay.”

  “—
and he said he really liked turning people on to things he loved.”

  “Did he say that, Nina?” Mitch laughed. “Turn people on to things?”

  “I don’t know if he put it that way exactly; maybe those are my words. Anyway, he was just being nice.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “Yesterday, when I was working.”

  “He was in the office? I thought he just left you his notes and you typed away like a good little office mouse.”

  “Sometimes he comes in to do some work.”

  “I thought it was a pretty small place. From the way you talk, it doesn’t sound much bigger than a closet.”

  “It is small.”

  “And you’re using the only desk. So where’s Nickiepie? Sitting in your lap?”

  “He uses a student chair, writes on the armboard.”

  “Not very comfortable for a great man. Was he there all the time you were working?”

  Nina stuffed a sheet into the washer before replying. “You make it zound zo zinister. Yezz, zee profezzor waz in zee offize wiz me, Inzpector Beerz.” She wriggled her eyebrows. “All zee time I was typing zee zecret paperz for him.”

  “Yuk, yuk.” He pulled the cap over her eyes again.

  They sat down next to the window to wait for their laundry. Nina brought out knitting from a plastic bag. A new occupation: she had been seized with the desire to make something for Mitch. He yawned. “Tired?” she asked.

  “Sleepy.”

  They looked at each other and smiled. A private smile. Nina held up the half-finished sock. “These are going to be really warm. I love this forest-green color, don’t you?”

  “Think you’ll ever finish? You’ve been working on that one sock for weeks.”

  They sat knee to knee. The door opened. A bunch of students came in, and cold air with them. Yesterday Professor Lehman had asked Nina if she had a boyfriend. She had tried to explain about Mitch, why he’d dropped out of college. “One of those young men who think pounding nails is the better way?” he’d said.

  Nina had defended Mitch’s choice, but she had stumbled under Nicholas Lehman’s ironical smile and was glad when he changed the subject to his daughter. Mindy’s picture was tacked on the bulletin board: a small, sneakered girl, squinting into the sun, standing with her hands on a bicycle. She lived with her mother in Asheville, North Carolina.