Rosebush

by Michele Jaffe

  Chapter 14

  Elsa. Elsa Blanchard. When I’d first come to Livingston, I thought of her as Elsa the Rich Girl because she drove a Porsche, had at least two diamond tennis bracelets, and always wore Chanel from the limited edition sunglasses perched on her head to the custom-made ring on her pinkie toe. Even the ankle socks she’d been wearing the time the school custodian found her passed out on the roof of the gym before her “extended relaxation vacation” had been Chanel.

  My mind went back to the party.

  I get up from David’s lap and turn around to give a cute wave, but instead of David, I get a glimpse of Elsa strutting toward him.

  She’s wearing a satin tuxedo-shorts jumpsuit from the Chanel resort collection, complete with a top hat. She has a pearl necklace with a huge jeweled Chanel symbol slung around her neck, a big red ring on her left hand, and platform sandals with bows up the back. She looks really cool, and if it were anyone else, I would be jealous, but Elsa only dates college guys, so it’s actually a relief. I know David is in good, or at least safe hands.

  I turn back and—

  “I bet you can guess what she said.” David’s jaw was set, his posture as straight as the IV pole next to my bed. Machines clicked and whirred, making white noise to fill the silent void between us.

  He was right, I could guess what she’d said. Although it was hard to believe she’d do it. It never occurred to me that Elsa had the power to tell David something that would destroy all my plans. Destroy us.

  That same day two weeks earlier when David and I had been fighting, Mr. Jergens the art teacher had called me and Elsa into his room.

  “I have good news and I have bad news,” he’d said. “Which do you want first?”

  Elsa and I had been distant acquaintances since I’d gotten to Livingston, but she was the editor of the school paper and we’d become friends at photography camp the previous summer. Before that, I’d always gotten this vibe from her that she didn’t like me and I assumed it was because she’d been the third Mustketeer with Langley and Kate until I came, and I sort of took her place.

  She laughed when I got up the courage to ask her about that one night last summer when she and Scott and I were talking around a crackling campfire.

  “I was only friends with them because my stepmother insisted,” she said. Elsa’s stepmother, Mary-Ellen, was twenty-seven years younger than her father, a collector of dolls, and a notorious social climber. Elsa put on a staccato voice to mimic her saying, “Knowing the Right People now will ensure you move in the Right Circles later, sweetie pie.” Elsa shook her head. “She’d usually get to that line around the third glass of Chablis—pronounced ‘cha-bliss’ by her, by the way,” Elsa explained, taking a swig of vitaminwater. “But really she wanted to use me to open social doors that were otherwise shut and triple bolted from her. She didn’t quite understand how having been a beauty queen in Idaho wasn’t enough to get her into the fold of Livingston’s upper crust. So I tried, for her, because she’s actually very sweet, but I couldn’t do it. You have no idea how glad I was when you showed up and I could make a safe exit.”

  I was shocked but tried to keep my voice neutral. “What do you mean?”

  “It takes a neurotic to know a neurotic. Like Langley. The sad orphan. She needs acolytes, people to think she’s important.”

  “What’s wrong with wanting to be important to people?” I asked, a little harshly.

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be important. What’s wrong is using other people to make yourself feel important.”

  “That’s not what Langley does.” The conversation was making me uncomfortable in a way that went beyond having to defend my friends.

  Elsa thought about it. “Maybe it’s not to you. But that’s how it felt to me. And Kate. Always happy, that’s how she wants everyone to see her, but actually she’s deeply miserable. She’s always acting, always fooling everyone. It’s a power trip. Like the way she needs everyone to think she’s carefree. Really she’s just careless—or at least she could care less about anyone but herself.”

  “That’s not true,” I burst out. “She’s totally not self-centered. And she’s one of the most generous people I know.”

  In the flickering light of the fire I saw Elsa give a rueful grin. “Given who you hang out with, that’s likely.”

  “Ouch,” Scott said.

  Elsa put up her hands in mock surrender. “Just kidding? Anyway, when you came along, it was more like you were their newest victim than my replacement.”

  “No one could replace you,” I said, to try to change the topic.

  “Here, here,” Scott agreed, his face all lean planes and glowing skin in the light of the fire.

  Elsa gave me a pretend tip of the hat. “I’m glad you’re happy. Personally those two scare me. Once I looked in Langley’s eyes, and I swear there was no emotion there. Nothing. Then you look in Kate’s eyes, and they’re even scarier because it’s like looking into a swirling pit of darkness. Both of them are seriously messed up. I thought you must be vapid to want to spend time with them and not worth my interest.” She smiled at me. “Turns out I was wrong. Although your taste in friends is still a bit suspect.”

  “She picked us,” Scott said from his place on the other side of the campfire, where he was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. “We bring the noise and the funk.”

  Elsa shook her head at the cigarette when he offered it. “Sure. But we’ll see what happens when we get back to school.”

  I didn’t pursue my defense of Kate and Langley because I didn’t see the point. She wasn’t right. She couldn’t be. Kate and Langley wouldn’t be so popular if what she said was true. If that’s what Elsa had to tell herself to feel better about not being friends with them, that was her issue.

  Plus I liked hanging out with her and I didn’t want to pick a fight. She and Scott and I spent a lot of evenings together talking about the ways we’d each capture a shot or who our favorite photographers were. We hadn’t hung out since school started again, but I didn’t think we were enemies. Not even the day Dr. Jergens called us both into the art room to tell us about the internship.

  He was beaming. “The good news is, I just got a call from the Getty Images people about their summer internship and they loved both your work.”

  I was speechless. Getty Images was known for having the highest-caliber photographers in the field, the most Pulitzer Prize winners, the best. Getty photographers hogged the front pages of all the major newspapers in the world, had the covers of Time and Newsweek. They were the top.

  “What’s the bad news?” Elsa asked.

  “The bad news is, there’s only one position available. I tried to convince them, they even lobbied internally, but only one of you can go. You’ll each have to write an essay about your philosophy of photography to break the tie. And I’m afraid you only have a week.”

  The essay I’d been working on the night David came over, about photography and social justice, was what broke the tie in my favor. I’d won the internship.

  When Mr. Jergens gave us that news, Elsa had smiled and said, “Congrats. I’ll buy you a vitaminwater to celebrate.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Remember, Elsa,” Mr. Jergens reminded, “you’re still their next choice, so if for any reason Jane can’t take it, it will be yours.”

  “Make that a poison vitaminwater,” she’d joked.

  I was excited, but it was a huge commitment, nearly the entire summer. It would mean commuting by train into New York City, so I’d have a lot less time to spend with my friends and David. And in particular it would mean canceling the ten-day camping trip he and I had been planning to take.

  I should have told him when I first found out I was a finalist, but it was the day we had our fight, and besides, I didn’t know if I’d get it. And then I was going to tell him the day I found out I won—I even canceled on Langley at the last minute to do it—but his band had a gig and we didn’t get to talk. It wasn�
�t that I was putting it off, I was just waiting for a good time.

  David liked it when things went the way he planned so I knew he’d be upset about canceling the camping trip. But he loved me, so he’d also have to be happy for me. This was an amazing opportunity. “Like getting your band signed to a first-look deal at a label,” I’d rehearsed saying in my head.

  That was just part of the speech I’d planned for the night of the party. The picnic Kate and Langley had helped me organize had all David’s favorite foods, ending in cupcakes. I was going to soften him up with buffalo chicken wings in the first course, move to Kobe beef sliders after, and as they were settling in, I’d tell him about the internship. We’d have chocolate cupcakes and champagne to celebrate, and then it would be into the sixteen-headed steam shower for a different kind of dessert. It was the perfect way to show him that we could have fun even if we weren’t camping.

  The not-perfect way was Elsa going up and congratulating him on me getting an internship that would take me away most of the summer. Which was apparently what had happened.

  He looked at me now with such hurt and betrayal and said, “I just didn’t want to be made a fool of again, all right? Having everyone know my business except me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal—”

  “Not a big deal? That you have, like, plans behind my back?”

  He was so stubborn, so afraid of being hurt. I was desperate to get through to him. “Please, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my idea. And I know I should have told you about it as soon as I knew—”

  “Yes.”

  “But I wanted to make sure to tell you the right way. So you wouldn’t freak out.”

  “Mission not accomplished,” he said.

  Tears burned in my eyes. I needed him, needed him to love me now more than ever. Now that I was ugly and broken. I couldn’t face being alone. “I made a mistake. I admit it. Nothing happened, I didn’t commit to anything. Everything can go back to just how it was, all our plans, everything. You gave me another chance before. Could you do it again?”

  He was watching me closely.

  “Please. I love you so much. And I’ll owe you one. Next time it’s your turn to mess up.”

  Like he couldn’t stop himself, that crooked smile came out of nowhere. “Hmm. Intriguing.”

  “Say yes.”

  He hesitated, scratching his chin like he was trying to make a decision. “Very well. But you have to get it right.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, exhaling with relief.

  “Last time when we had that fight? I didn’t just say I’d give you another chance. What I said was—”

  And suddenly I was back there two weeks earlier. Back in my room, back on my bed.

  David said, “I guess I could give you another chance.”

  Our lips met in a long, deep, slow, sinuous kiss. I pulled away slightly to tease, “Only one chance?”

  He brought my fingers to his lips and started kissing them. “Maybe one chance an hour.”

  He spoke the words now, in my hospital room, and it was like we’d been transported back to that moment together. He stood and reached out for my fingers, but my hand was stuck in a tangle of cords. “Um, this is a bit awkward.”

  “Maybe we can save that part for later. Since I can’t even feel my fingers.”

  “Oh yeah.” He bent over. “But you can feel your mouth, right?”

  “Yes.”

  The kiss hurt a little on my bruised lip, but I didn’t want him to stop. It made me feel normal again, hopeful. I could have continued it all day if Ollie hadn’t come in then and said, “David, man, we have to go.” He jingled his car keys in his hand.

  “Chill, buddy,” David said, barely lifting his lips from mine. “Can’t you see I’m busy giving my lady-girl mouth-to-mouth? Your phone can wait.”

  “Seriously, man. It’s the fuzz.”

  David stood up like he’d been tased, but it was too late.

  “Hello, Mr. Montero,” Officer Rowley said. “And Mr. Tisch. How nice to see you both. Do you have anything to add to your statements yet?”

  “No, ma’am,” Ollie said, looking—and sounding—like Livingston’s number-one upstanding citizen. His voice was relaxed, but the knuckles of his right hand were tight where his fingers wrapped around his car keys.

  “Very well, then we won’t detain you.”

  “We can go?” David asked.

  “I’ve just come to talk to Jane. Unless you want to stay and answer questions.”

  “No, that’s cool.” He shot me a peace sign from down near his belt and a small intimate smile. It was filled with promise and love. “Be seeing you, babe. Stay soft.”

  Chapter 15

  Officer Rowley closed the door behind them and pulled a chair up next to my bed. “I see you’ve received several new bouquets and cards.”

  “Yes.”

  “But the largest ones are still from Oliver Montero.”

  “I guess. I haven’t really been ranking them.”

  She smiled the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “Of course. A girl with your degree of popularity would never think that way.”

  I didn’t even understand what that meant. “Have you been questioning my friends?” I asked.

  “We’re trying to get to the truth.” Moving with precision and no haste, she opened her notebook and uncapped her pen. She looked at me for a moment.

  “What can you tell me about Nicola di Savoia?”

  “Nicky? She’s a girl at my school.”

  “How would you describe your relationship with her?”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Based on your tox screens, you were both dosed with a drug called Paratol. She exhibited the same memory loss you’ve been showing and reports some of the same symptoms, but more mildly.”

  “What’s Paratol?”

  “It’s a prescription sleeping medication. For some people it has hallucinogenic side effects, so it is highly regulated and not easily available.”

  “We shared a drink at the party. She gave it to me.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “I only remembered it last night—her handing me this red plastic cup and telling me to drink almost as soon as we got to the party.”

  “She gave it to you? You’re certain of that?”

  I nodded. She made a note on her pad. “Did anyone else touch the cup?”

  I hated the way she was looking at me, like I was a criminal. The way she was talking about my friends. “No.” I paused. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her eyes left her pad to focus on me. They were cool, completely without emotion. “No one is saying you did.” Back to the pad. “Did you share anything else?”

  I ran through the memory in my mind. Nicky coming up right when we got there and wanting to make peace. Giving me a kiss and the cup and telling me to drink. Refusing to take the cup back when I tried to give it to her. “I can’t think of anything else we shared.”

  “Besides a boyfriend, of course.”

  That caught me off guard. I felt flustered, pinned, and I could sense heat rising in my cheeks. “I guess. I mean, sure. But Nicky and David broke up a few weeks before I started dating him. I didn’t steal him from her.” I was aware of talking too much, sounding defensive. I took a breath. “What I mean is, we didn’t share him. And she broke up with him. So it’s not like she wanted him anymore.”

  “You’d be amazed how seeing your ex with another woman can reawaken powerful feelings,” Officer Rowley said, straightening the pad she had resting on her knee. She seemed almost human for a moment, vulnerable. Then her eyes moved from the pad back to me and she was all business again. “Did you see her again at another time during the party?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  But even as I said it, I felt like something was wrong. There was something tickling the back of my mind, telling me this didn’t make sense. “Wait. Since there’s no reason
Nicky would drug herself, someone must have drugged both Nicky and me, right?”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “What’s another?”

  “Your mother has a prescription for Paratol.”

  I didn’t know my mother had trouble sleeping. All those nights when I’d come in late and she’d never even mentioned it, I assumed she just didn’t care. Had she been drugged? She’d never had problems sleeping before—that I knew of.

  “Miss Freeman?” Officer Rowley’s voice recalled me to the hospital room.

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I was struck by the fact that maybe there were as many things about my mother I didn’t know as there were things about me she was in the dark about.

  “Nicky says that she drank from the cup before giving it to you and felt fine, but when she drank from it after you’d held it, she started to feel weird.”

  I shook off the thoughts about my mother. “Wait, are you suggesting I drugged her?”

  “If, as you say, no one else touched the cup and if Nicky drank from it before you with no ill effects, that’s certainly how it looks.”

  I felt like I was on the deck of a ship that was being tossed in the waves with no firm footing, no way to know which way was up, what was true, what was false. “No way. Nicky made a mistake. She didn’t drink from the cup after I did. She gave it to me and went off to dance.”

  “She says she did. And right now, Miss Freeman, since she hasn’t withheld information from me, I’m inclined to believe her.”

  The sense of reality heaving below me intensified. I felt my stomach lurch and my body went hot and cold at once. “What information have I withheld?”

  “Like that you had a big fight with your two best friends at the party that night.”

  “What?” I was bewildered. “I fought with Langley and Kate? Did they tell you that?”

  “No, but several people witnessed you yelling at them and walking away from a room you’d been in with them saying”—she flipped through her notebook—“that’s it, it’s over, I’m ending this.”

  I had a flash memory then of Langley in front of the door of a room. It’s dark; the door is beige with gilding around the moldings of the panels. Her hand is on the knob; it’s gold. Or was it Kate? It was all hazy, a blur. But I didn’t remember fighting with either of them.