by Ward, Deena
She brushed an invisible piece of lint from her immaculate navy coat. “I wouldn’t care. Trust me. You don’t want to cultivate relationships with this sort of numbskullery.”
The man puffed out his scrawny chest as far as it would go. “Hey, are you calling me names?”
“I am,” she said.
“Oh. Well. Dang. I didn’t expect you to be so honest about it.”
“I’m renowned for my integrity,” she said. “People always say they can count on me for an honest opinion.”
“Yeah,” I said. “whether they ask for it or not.”
“I think the clerk just scored on you,” the man said to Paulina.
“That’s all right,” Paulina said. “She’s seriously underemployed in this capacity, so it’s not as devastating a blow to my ego as it might be otherwise.”
The man looked at me. “Was that a compliment?”
“You know, I think it was.” I grinned at Paulina.
She ignored me. “Enough of this. Now you, man with the ill-fitting shoes, what’s it going to take to get you out of this store with the least amount of further conversation?”
He gave it some thought then held out the bag of seaweed. “$12.99 plus tax.”
“Done.” She flicked her hand at him, dismissing him.
He nodded at me, struck the seaweed under his arm, then strutted to the door, resembling a euphoric, but scruffy, Art Garfunkel.
When the bell on the door signaled his departure, Paulina opened her handbag and tossed a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “Worth every penny.”
I rang up the purchase and handed her the change. “So what brings you here? I haven’t seen you in a while. Xavier was here last week, though.”
Xavier visited me fairly regularly. He’d spend the afternoon keeping me company in the shop, or if I wasn’t working, we’d hang out in my apartment or find some quaint cafe in the neighborhood for a bite to eat and a chat.
“I’d as soon leave that until I have a reasonable chance of privacy, and it’s doubtful that can be achieved here,” she said.
“My relief should be here within the next hour — if he shows up. I warn you, he doesn’t always show up.”
“I’m not surprised. The quality of the clientele alone warrants a certain amount of dereliction of duty. What happens if you’re left in the lurch?”
“I usually cover his shift.”
She arched her eyebrow at me, the same as she’d done to the frizzy-haired man. “You seem more nonchalant than I recall.”
“You know what they say. Don’t sweat the small stuff, and everything is small stuff.”
“I’m not fond of pop psychology.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
The side of her mouth quirked up then she resumed her normal queenly air. “I’ll be back in an hour.” She turned and sailed out the door, her floral perfume swirling in her wake.
I grabbed up my sketch book, and quickly set about capturing the moment of her spin.
In the back of my mind, I wondered what Paulina’s visit was about. I’d last seen her more than a month before. I’d gone shopping with Lilly, and we ran into Paulina in a department store. She was in a hurry so we didn’t get a chance to talk much. She barely had time to tell me the color of the shirt I was trying on made me look sallow.
I knew from Elaine that she and Ron were still involved with the Martins, though perhaps not as heavily as they once were. I didn’t think my split with Gibson caused any problems in their relationship, since there was no rancor between Gibson and I, no sides to take.
Lilly and Xavier never mentioned Gibson to me, nor did Ron. Elaine had stopped bringing him up as a subject of conversation when I finally convinced her that the situation was beyond repair.
I was relieved that my friendship with Lilly and Xavier persisted after my relationship with Gibson ended. I needed every friend I could get.
I got a call, in February, from one of my old girlfriends, Sherry. I hadn’t heard from her since the porno scandal the previous summer, and hadn’t expected to hear from her ever again after her negative reaction.
She told me she missed me, and that she’d thought a lot about things and she hoped I’d give her a second chance. Of course, I did. We weren’t as close as we once were, but we were getting there. I had yet to resume contact with any of my other, former girlfriends.
I scratched away in my sketchbook and easily passed the time waiting on my co-worker to relieve me. Miracle of miracles, he arrived at the store only ten minutes late. I joined Paulina outside, who’d been stationed at the door for the past fifteen minutes, impatiently tapping her toe and terrifying customers.
She craned her neck and eyed the upper floors of the building. “I hear you live around here, someplace.”
“Yep. Right up there. Second floor.”
“We can step up there for a moment.”
Okay, then. We went to the side of the building and the small door that opened onto the stairs which led to the upper floors. I heard her sniff several times as we climbed the steps, but other than that, she made no comment on the dilapidated state of the building.
I unlocked the door to my small home and preceded her inside. In spite of myself, I frantically scanned the room in worry that I’d left it filthy that morning, which I knew full well I hadn’t. Darned Paulina. She brought that sort of thing out in you, even when you were on guard against it.
Paulina marched inside and scrutinized the room. There wasn’t much to see. It was a small room, with a minuscule kitchen in one corner, basic furniture like a bed and table and chairs, and a flea-sized attached bathroom. At the rent I was paying for it, it was still a bargain.
I’d done my best to give it character. Rich color abounded in the fabrics I draped over the shabby furniture, and in the throw pillows scattered around the place. Even the collection of eclectic rugs I picked up at different thrift stores were vibrant and served to mask the dingy linoleum floor.
I thought what added most to the room was my art hanging everywhere, filling the wall space in the apartment. Pencil, chalk and charcoal sketches, pastel portraits and the latest addition to my arsenal of technique: watercolors. Most of the subjects in the pictures were people from school, or from the store. But there were street scenes, too, and winter trees in the park, some still lifes of found items and strange products from the shop below.
I didn’t fool myself into thinking any of it was high art. But it didn’t have to be. My life, as it was now, was displayed on those walls. And it was a full life, as evidenced by the fact that I regularly had to cull out older pieces to make room for the new.
Paulina strolled about and eyed my work. “You’ve improved a great deal since last fall. I told you more practice would do you good, and here’s the proof of it.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks.”
“Always my pleasure to support the arts and nurture budding talent. You still need work on perspective though. It’s distinctly off in these pictures looking down on the street. The man is too large in some, too small in others. And —”
“That’s deliberate. But never mind it.”
“Hmph.” She stood back and stepped up to the only windows in the place, a set of three large, floor-to-ceiling windows that jutted out enough to have a built-in window seat at their base.
“These windows face due west,” she said. “It must be dreadful to sit here on summer afternoons.”
“I wouldn’t know. It’s not summer yet.”
“Oh, it will be insufferable, I assure you.” She turned to face me. “All right then. I’ve seen enough. I noticed you have a respectable-looking bistro down on the corner. I hope they can make a decent cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then we should go there.”
And she headed off. She was already cruising down the stairs before I even reached the door.
We settled in a comfortable booth at the rear of the cafe. It was warm and cozy, a respite from th
e wind blowing outside.
Paulina stirred her coffee. “I suppose you know why I’m here today.”
I added some cream to my coffee. “I don’t. Unless it’s just a friendly visit?”
“It’s obvious. You’ve made your point, Nonnie. Now it’s time for you to come home. I’m here to fetch you.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that it took me a moment to catch up.
“Oh, well if you say so, then let’s go.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “Yes, you’ve got your little bohemian artist thing going on. I get it. Really, I do. But it’s enough now. When we’re done with our coffee, we’ll go and you can pack a bag. We’ll send some staff to get the rest of your things later.”
“It’s odd. I’m torn between laughing in your face and getting pissed. I’d say you can’t be serious, but I know how you are, so I’m pretty sure you’re serious.”
“I’m aware that you’ll require some convincing, and I’ve come prepared.” She sent me an even look. “Gibson needs you.”
My chest contracted. “Is something wrong? Is he sick?”
“Of course not. Are you a doctor? Why would we need you if he’s sick? Ridiculous.”
I tried not to snap an ugly response. “Just tell me why you think he needs me.”
“I have no idea why he does. I never have. It’s nothing against you, of course. I like you well enough. You’re a smart girl, pretty, genuine, occasionally humorous. But whatever makes you so special to him, I don’t have a clue. I always thought he’d go for someone more sophisticated. We can only chalk it up to the mystery of attraction.”
“I don’t mean in a generic sense, Paulina.”
“It’s an interesting topic, though. Not about you and Gibson specifically, but about attraction itself. Xavier and I have discussed it many times, why we’re drawn to one person and not another. If I were of a mystical bent I’d say —”
I let her blather on, but I refused to pay any attention to it. I sipped my coffee, thought about what I’d eat for dinner, tried to figure out what questions might be on my advanced color theory test the next morning.
I tuned back in when Paulina said, “Television has destroyed the attention span of the human race. Permanently, I fear.”
“Can we move this along?” I asked.
“And there you are. Making my point for me yet again. But you’re right. This is about Gibson and you getting over whatever it is that made you leave him. What was that exactly?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Of course it is. I’m the one who’s had to watch him moping around for the past months. And that’s when he’s home, which he usually isn’t. He’s constantly traveling on business. I’m positive he’s not eating right and he doesn’t look his usual self. I can only chalk it up to you leaving him. The logical conclusion is that he misses you.”
My chest contracted tighter. This was the most information I’d had about Gibson since I moved out of his house. It was welcome, but excruciating. “If that’s true, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Nonsense. You can come home. There’s nothing to keep you from it. Certainly not that absurd job of yours, or that sad little room you’re hunkered in. No one in their right mind would choose that place over home.”
“The estate isn’t my home, Paulina. Not anymore.”
“Phht! It’s yours. Whatever Gibson did that set you off, it’s time you got over it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know you were lucky to ever have a chance with a man like Gibson Reeves. And I know that whatever he did wrong, it couldn’t have been much. The man is practically perfect. What did he do that was so terrible? Nothing much, I wager.”
“Like I said, it’s not your business. None of this is.”
“I’m practically his closest relative, if I were actually related to him. No one could have more right to know his business than I.”
“If you say so, but it’s my business, too, and you’ve got no rights with me.”
“At least admit that you’d be better off returning to him. No one could argue against it.”
“I do. It’s ridiculous that you order me to return and think I’ll just willy-nilly follow after you. Who do you think I am?”
“I think the bigger question is who do you think I am?” she asked, her voice dropping into an ominous tone. “I’m not used to being disobeyed.”
“You can’t intimidate me. I’m not Toy. Or Elaine.”
She blew out a breath and waved her hand in the air. “It was worth a try. I don’t know how I can be expected to solve this problem if you’re going to be so obstinate.”
“No one expects you to solve it. Certainly not me.”
“Well you should. Tell me you don’t miss him. Tell me you don’t want him back.”
“I’m uncomfortable talking about this with you.”
“That’s unimportant. Tell me you don’t miss him and I’ll consider the conversation closed.”
“I don’t miss him.”
“Shameful! Lying like that.”
“Yeah, well, the conversation is closed,” I said. “You promised.”
“I said I’d consider it.”
“Hair splitter.”
“Deceitful girl.”
I pushed my cup of coffee away. “Enough. Name calling is my limit.”
Paulina nodded, slowly. She gave me a long, searching look. “Just tell me one thing. Is there anything that could fix this and bring you home?”
I didn’t want to be affected by her sincerity, but it happened all the same. “Of course, but it would require such a basic change of character that it’s impossible.”
“Then it’s not hopeless.”
“Impossible, hopeless. One and the same, Paulina.”
“Can’t you overlook it?”
“I tried. Didn’t work.”
“I’m put out with the both of you.” She frowned at me. “But mostly you. You’re a woman. As women, we’re used to bending, making the compromises because men are no good at it. Be a woman and let him be a man.”
A shot of heat blazed up my neck. “That’s a load of crap. And you’re a fine one to be shoveling it. Like you’ve ever played the little woman to any man.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t mind if he weakens me, because I’m already weak to begin with.”
“When you put it like that —”
“I’m second. He’s first. Well I don’t play that way anymore. And I suspect you never have. You’ve got a hell of a nerve telling me to give up what you never, ever would.”
I watched in some astonishment as her dictatorial demeanor fell away. “You’re right,” she said. “I was wrong. If that’s how it is between you and Gibson, then you’re right. I’m wrong.”
“I’m ... yeah ... then. Exactly.”
“One thing, though,” she said. “Would you at least promise to think about how you could make it work with him? Even though it seems hopeless? You may have missed something.”
“I can promise to do what I think will make me happiest, without anyone else’s approval.”
“But Gibson ...”
I blew out a breath. “Fine. I can tell you this. I’m certain nothing will change between us, and yet, nearly every day, I pointlessly try to think of a way back to him. Is that good enough for you? I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t. Thank you anyway.” Her lips puckered and she glowered at her coffee cup. “I had planned to take care of this matter today. I’m seriously displeased that my efforts have been for nothing.”
“Maybe another cup of coffee will take the sting out of it?”
“It won’t make it worse.” She craned her long neck, seeking our waitress. “It’s after five. We’ll order decaf.”
“I don’t like decaf.”
“That’s beside the point. It’s not about what you like. I
t’s about what’s good for you. I’ve read multiple studies about ...”
And away she went, again. Short-lived displeasure, indeed. I wished mine could be as brief.
Chapter 21
That night, and the next morning at school, I couldn’t get Gibson out of my thoughts. I wanted to call Paulina and damn her for telling me about him. Her description of how he was still depressed after all this time, how he wasn’t eating right, etc., replayed on a mental loop that became increasingly annoying as the day progressed.
I got out of school in early afternoon and slogged my way home battling against the March headwind. It was times like these when I regretted selling my car. It was the smart thing to do, since I had little use for it and upkeep and insurance were costing more than the car provided in return, but it was a lovely convenience in lousy weather.
I kept my head low and trudged onward. Someone bumped into me and I looked up to say excuse me. When I saw who it was, I put on my best dismissive look and blew past him without further comment.
I didn’t know his name, but I knew his face well. He was the only person, so far, who had recognized me from Michael’s video.
Months ago when I obsessed over being recognized, when it was still torturous to risk being out in public, I ran scenarios of what it would be like if someone approached me and said something along the lines of, “Hey, aren’t you that porno slut from the internet?” I had a million variations.
The only consolation of all that brooding was that I figured when I finally was recognized, I’d be fairly well-prepared with a pre-planned response.
The day it happened, I was at school, hanging out in the common area. A young man, barely old enough to legally view pornography, took an interest in me, kept staring from across the room. I ignored him, but when he stood and approached my table, I couldn’t ignore him anymore. He had the gall to pull out a chair and sit beside me without invitation.
He said hello. I scarcely acknowledged him, continued leafing through my textbook.
“You look familiar,” he said, in a way that instantly put me on guard, warning me this wasn’t a normal pickup line.
“I have a common face,” I told him.
