“I’ll take you.”
“Really?” she wiped away the wetness on her cheeks leaving scars of black mascara. “You would do that?”
“Of course. I’m removed enough from the situation. You won’t have to get your friends involved, and Caleb will never have to know.”
“It’s on Saturday at seven,” she replied grasping me in hug that was so desperate I flinched. “Thank you so much, Olivia.”
Now there was a surprise. After all the talking we did that day while tending to our clothes, she had never once asked my name, not even after I asked hers. Popular girls surmised that everyone knew who they were. Duh! Jessica Alexander. Don’t you read the school paper? Jessica had no reason to know my name.
“I don’t remember telling you my name,” I smiled at her.
“Everyone knows your name. You’re the girl Caleb missed the shot for right?” I felt the shock right down to my red painted toe nails. How could I forget my fifteen minutes of fame? My sour run with popularity? I shrank back suddenly feeling self-conscious. That had been a dark, dark time in my life.
“Don’t worry, he explained to me about your…inclinations…” The word ‘inclinations’ rolled off of her tongue like a well sucked lifesaver. It dropped in the middle of us, shouting its scary implications at me… “that you’re gay,” she buffered, smiling, “any woman that turns Caleb down has to either be a lesbian or crazy. See you Saturday.”
Touché.
I shuffled back to my room in a daze, considering two options.
One. Caleb, decided the only reason I could reject him was because I was gay. Two. Caleb tells everyone I am a lesbian as revenge for blowing him off. Either way, I was going to have to air my sexuality to clear things up.
Chapter Seven
The Past
I drove a somber Jessica to the clinic Saturday morning as scheduled. The day was fittingly dreary and she stared out of the window for most of the ride, making an occasional comment about a store we passed or a restaurant Caleb had taken her to. I was wondering if she was capable of talking about anything else other than Caleb when she pointed to a billboard for Calvin Klein and said that Caleb was so much hotter than the guy modeling the underwear. I pictured him in his boxers kicking around in the pool and suddenly got lightheaded. He was. Filthy, girlfriend impregnating, scumbag.
The clinic was posh, definitely not one of those shady, inner-city places that is tucked away in a storefront. This was where rich girls came to wipe away their indiscretions…Boca Raton style.
The waiting room was stuffed with oversized furniture and framed art. I chose a seat in the far corner and stared intensely at a macramé plant holder while Jessica spoke with the receptionist. She came to sit next to me while she filled out a mound of forms. The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the room. Before the nurse took her to the back, she looked over at me with saucer eyes and said…
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
A nerve in my eyebrow started twitching. I was simply the driver. I didn’t want to be her conscience coach. If I told her ‘no’ we would walk right out of here, she was looking for a reason to leave, and if I told her ‘yes’…well…it made me an accomplice.
I thought of Caleb. He would do the right thing and marry her if she kept the baby. They would probably be divorced within five years. Broken home, broken hearts…me without him. I swallowed hard.
“Absolutely, yes,” I said nodding.
She smiled brightly and grabbed my hand.
“Thank you, Olivia.” she said squeezing. I pulled my fingers gently away and tucked my hands beneath my purse.
Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh!
She stood to leave and I had the urge to snatch her by the hand and run for the car. What was I doing? I could change her mind! She took one step, two, and the moment for goodness passed, kidnapping my conscience as it went. The nurse led Jessica through a set of double doors and then she was gone. I felt sick—like all the blood in my veins had turned to vinegar. What had I done? And for what? Him? Did I really plan on using this information to get what I wanted? I rocked back and forth my arms wrapped around my belly.
“Are you okay?” the receptionist asked, peering around the slab of frosted glass she sat behind.
“Something I ate,” I said. She nodded like she understood and pointed me in the direction of the bathroom. I hid in the handicap stall for thirty minutes with my back pressed against the door, convincing my bruised conscience that it was all her choice and I had nothing to do with it. When enough time passed I slipped back into the waiting room and took a seat.
I flipped through a couple of magazines and bit away at my nails. One other girl arrived during my tortured time there. She looked to be about sixteen and was escorted by her mother who was hiding behind a pair of dark glasses. The mother hurried over to the window while her daughter slouched down in a chair and began texting on her phone, her thumbs moving like fast machinery over her keypad. I pulled my eyes away. My mother would have made me keep it. I remember her telling me, “I’ll be damned if a daughter of mine walks away from her responsibility. Do it once and you’ll do it for the rest of your life.” I really missed my mother. Maybe if she were alive, I wouldn’t be so rotten.
A nurse approached me an hour later, bending down to say something in those hushed tones that everyone kept using. If we speak softly perhaps we won’t draw attention to what is really happening here.
“Jessica is ready. You can pull your car around the back to pick her up.”
I flinched. They were sending her away through the rear of the building. Sneaky, like she was bad trash. I rushed out and hopped in my car glad to be rid of the place. A nurse was standing behind Jessica’s wheelchair, her hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Jessica was pale as a peeled potato. She smiled when I pulled up—a sort of relieved smile that made me uncomfortable. I jumped out of the car and hurried to open the passenger side door.
“She is to do no heavy lifting and no exercising for a week,” the nurse informed me. I nodded.
“Are you okay?” I asked her as she slid from the chair into my front seat.
She nodded weakly.
I pulled away from the curb with anxiety aggravating my belly.
I had accomplished what I set out to do, and now I needed to get Jessica as far away from me as possible. She made me feel guilt, a luxury I couldn’t afford while trying to steal Caleb.
I put the radio on as we eased onto the highway. Jessica spent most of the ride home gazing again out of the window. A part of me wanted to ask what she was feeling, if she was sad or relieved. But the part of me that wanted Caleb, kept my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. This was business, I reminded myself. I wasn’t here to make a friend.
When the grey rooftops of the campus came into view, we both breathed a sigh of relief. I parked my car in front of the building and jumped out to open her door.
“Do you need me to help you to your room?”
She shook her head “no” and winced as I helped her from her seat. She was pale and her usually full lips looked limp and timid beneath her running nose. Not the Jessica Alexander that was featured in the school paper less than two months ago. Even her hair was dull and lifeless, hanging in greasy chunks around her face.
She hugged me before shuffling off toward the elevators. I watched her jab at the button, leaning limply against the wall, hugging her arms around her torso. When the elevator finally arrived, she turned one last time to wave weakly at me before climbing in and disappearing behind the doors. I slumped against my car suddenly feeling exhausted. I decided not to go back to my room. Cammie would be there and when it came to me, she was terribly perceptive. I drove, instead, to a breakfast place a few miles away and seated myself at the bar with a newspaper someone had left discarded outside.
The cover story was on Laura Hilberson and the lack of leads in her case. The detective handling the case was speculating that Laura’s disappearance
might not have been an abduction and that all evidence was pointing to Laura having purposely disappeared. Her distraught parents were begging someone to come forward with information.
I wished that I had paid better attention to the girl when she shared classes with me. Those were my pre-Caleb days, when I hadn’t cared a thing about who he was dating and why. She didn’t seem like the type of girl who would want to disappear. She was popular and perky, a communications major, according to the paper, who had aspirations of becoming a news anchor. I stared at the grainy picture of her and tried to imagine her sitting behind the anchor desk of the six o’clock news. Now she was on the six o’clock news. I felt sad for her, wherever she was. Something had gone terribly wrong, kidnapped or not, and now it was likely that Laura would never see her dreams come to fruition.
I thought about my own dreams as I bit into my bagel. I wanted to be an attorney and put bad people in prison. Now, I was the bad person because I was plotting and scheming for a stupid boy. I hadn’t even thought about my dreams lately. It was like Caleb had rooted out my ambition and replaced it with a lusty obsession. God, I was really going downhill. I finished up my coffee and tossed money on the counter. If this obsession was draining my ambition now, what would happen if I actually got him? Would I be so enraptured with Caleb that I would be satisfied with being his girlfriend and nothing else? That would mean following in my mother’s footsteps and she had warned me against falling for a man before accomplishing my dreams.
I was halfway to convincing myself to forsake my Caleb obsession when I arrived back on campus. I parked my car in the student overflow lot and trotted toward my dorm building feeling resolved. I needed to stop this foolishness now before I ruined everything I was working for. As I climbed the stairs, I heard voices echoing from the third floor landing. I slowed when I realized that one of them was Jessica‘s. She was cooing, talking in that sweet, girly voice that advanced flirters used to charm men. I walked slowly trying to catch as much of what she was saying as I could.
“Not today. I have my…you know…”
I climbed the last few stairs and turned the corner. Jessica was on her tip toes with her arms wrapped around Caleb’s neck. They were nose to nose and he was looking down at her adoringly. I stopped abruptly and they both turned to look at me.
“Olivia!” she said sounding embarrassed. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said looking at Caleb. He looked right through me—like I wasn’t even there. He turned back to face Jessica. Ouch. Jessica was freshly showered with her hair wet and pulled back in a bun. She looked significantly more polished than when I had left her hours ago. It dawned on me then. Caleb must have hinted at sex. Jessica, who had received strict instruction to abstain from hanky-panky for the next fourteen days, was trying to deter him with a story about her period.
I shuffled my feet embarrassingly. Her face was red and she was looking at me pointedly.
“Um…” I pointed to the door, which they were blocking and raised my eyebrows to demonstrate my annoyance.
“Oh, sorry.” Jessica giggled and pulled Caleb out of the way. She made sure to wink at me as I squeezed past and I made sure to brush Caleb’s back with my arm. He jerked away from my touch and I smiled in satisfaction.
Jackass.
I walked quickly to my room with the faint stirrings of anger beginning to rise in my chest. How could she be all over him like that, after what she’d just done? I jabbed my key into the lock and turned it so hard the tips of my fingers hurt from the force. Hours after aborting her baby and she’s already wrapped around him like string cheese. She was an idiot and I had to have him—simple as that. I would learn to balance him with my ambition. I could have both and I would. I burst through my door with determination and told Cammie to shut up before she had the chance to open her mouth. I threw myself on my bed and pretended to read a textbook. By the end of the week, Jessica and Caleb’s relationship would be in tatters and I would have my second chance.
Chapter Eight
The Present
“Olivia? Will you come?” Caleb’s voice hangs on the other end of the line, waiting for my response. I sigh, looking around my apartment and plucking at my sweater. He wants me to come over for dinner and I feel like that would really be crossing the line. It’s not like I am virgin to crossing lines but I am trying to be a decent person. If I can keep things away from his personal life then I can make-believe that he is instigating the whole shebang.
“Seriously, Caleb, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Your girlfriend would have a breakdown if she found out. Why can’t we meet at a restaurant or something?”
“My cooking is better than any restaurant you’ve ever been to. Besides there’s more chance of her spotting us out at a restaurant than at my place.”
Unless she’s stalking you like the last time….I think bitterly.
“She didn’t have much of a problem finding my apartment,” I say sourly. “Besides, I barely know you. How prudent would it be for me to show up to a stranger’s house for dinner? You could be a rapist for all I know.”
“Olivia, you’ve already had me over to your place and survived. I’ll open a bottle of wine…it‘ll be fun.”
“I’m not really a fun loving person.”
“It will be dangerous.”
I smile.
“I only drink red wine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And make sure she doesn’t show up this time.”
Caleb laughs. “Really? I thought it would be nice if she came.”
We make arrangements as to what day and time and I hang up feeling anxious. I stuff my face into a pillow and groan in shame. I am in over my head.
My phone rings again. Thinking it is Caleb with a last minute detail, I snatch up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Olivia?” It is a different voice.
“Yeeees?”
“Olivia! You sexy beast of a woman! Where have you been all my life?”
“Jim?”
“The one and only, baby. How’s life? Kicking your ass lately?”
“Hard as usual,” I say laughing, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m in town and there is nothing I want more then to spend some quality time with my dream girl.”
“Dream girl! Last time I saw you, you called me a shrew and told me I had no talent.”
“Those are just words, baby girl. Besides, you had just rejected another confession of my love for you. Give a man his verbal abuse, huh? Now, when are you free for the taking?”
Jim. Jim. The same guy I used to make a statement about my sexuality. The one I dropped like a dirty sin the moment I stole Caleb. He remained faithful. I received a call every time his work swept him past my zip code and we would have a whirlwind night of dancing or eating or whatever other guilty pleasure suited us. Then, he would leave and I was fine with that.
“How long are you in my corner?”
“Two days—three at the most. I was thinking we could go down to the Wave, get drunk, grind around on the dance floor...”
“Hmmm…sounds romantic. When can you be here?”
“Fifteen, I have to stop for some smokes.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll be ready.”
I hang up and smear some lipstick on my mouth. I am still thinking about Caleb and I have force myself to stop.
Tonight was just going to be Jim and me and a good time. No obsessions. I slip on a pair of black pants and a green off-the-shoulder shirt, and pull my hair into a ponytail.
Jim picks me up outside of my apartment. I hop into his car, a restored 1969 Mustang painted green with yellow racing stripes, and smile at him across the seat.
“You’re like a Percocet on a bad day, Libby,” he says, surprising me and kissing me straight on the mouth. I pull back and shake my head.
“Mmmm, I love it when you compare me to prescription drugs.” I plug in my seat belt and begin messing with the radio. Jim likes Phish and that�
��s practically a sin in my books, since they’re just Grateful Dead wannabee’s.
Jim winks at me and perches a cigarette between his lips. Usually, I don’t tolerate smoking—it makes me feel gritty and it doesn’t help that my mom died of cancer. But, there is something about the way Jim smokes that makes me want to watch him. I look on in anticipation as the wick of his lighter spits out a tiny tongue of fire. He lowers his cigarette to the flame and inhales. I can almost hear the tip of his camel hiss in delight as it accepts the fire. This is my favorite part—he takes a long drag, his eyelids flutter like a junkie, then he pushes the grey smoke out of his nose and it curls into the sky, like a graceful, ashen, ghost. Beautiful.
I sit back satisfied. Jim is darkly handsome. He is wearing eyeliner and jeans that cling to his body like lizard skin. His hair is shaggy and dyed black, which makes his sharp blue eyes seem almost lavender. I always thought the British accent belonged more on him than on Caleb. I fan away smoke and hum along with the final bars of an oldie my mom used to love.
“Why are you so happy tonight?” he asks, tapping an inch of cigarette ash into an empty can of Red Bull.
“There is something devastatingly wrong with the universe when you are happy enough to hum.”
He scoots his car into traffic almost hitting the bumper of the truck in front of us.
“I dunno. I just am.”
Jim raises an eyebrow.
“Come on, Libby. I know when something is up.”
I pause. Then I say, “Caleb’s back.”
The Opportunist Page 8