Sometimes We Tell the Truth

by Kim Zarins

  “I regret that I cannot marry this lovely young woman,” he announced. The girl frowned prettily. “Instead, I will give her in marriage to my ally, who has arrived and is standing here, the dauphin. He has already agreed to this match. I must step down from this wedding. For you see, I am already married to the girl’s mother, so such a marriage would not be proper or right.”

  Zelda was not sure she understood. The girl was . . . her daughter? She thought of the girl’s face and body as she had prepared her for the wedding.

  “Emily?” she called. “Are you my Emily?”

  The girl trembled. “I . . . I have a mother?”

  The girl left the dais, with her new princely groom standing there with nothing to do, and rushed down to meet her mother. Zelda teared up, and when she threw her arms around the girl—her daughter—she sobbed. Almost fifteen years had passed, and she held her daughter again.

  “But if you’re my mother, who is he?” the girl asked, turning her head toward Henry. Zelda, still sobbing, tucked the girl’s head into her neck and held her tight. She let go only when she saw the boy hovering nearby, holding the tiara that was supposed to crown the new queen.

  “Emily? I don’t understand. . . .” His voice was still high and young. His arms were tentative when Zelda threw herself into an embrace. He hadn’t known he had a living mother. Or father. Neither of them had known any of it.

  “Come,” said Henry, laughing at the triumph of his little ploy, laughing without remorse—for now he knew he’d found a wife noble and true. Zelda’s spine straightened. Henry took the diadem from the boy and crowned Zelda’s head. “I’ve tested you more than any other woman, and you are perfect in every way. These are our children, raised under my sister’s care and returned safely to you. The boy will inherit my realm. The girl will wed her prince. All is well.”

  And Zelda smiled at him.

  The end.

  We sit there, horrified. Then Marcus blinks, and that familiar tic unfreezes us.

  “That was the creepiest, sickest story I have ever heard,” Sophie shout-whispers. She flicks a glance at Lupe. “Which is saying a lot.”

  The whole bus chimes in.

  “Like, yeah.”

  “Totally!”

  “My guess is that Zelda will go on a Goth-doll killing spree and smile with the blood of her son all over her hands,” Lupe says, “so that Henry won’t have an heir after all. I mean, he didn’t have a male heir in real life, and this would explain why.”

  Rooster grunts. “Wait, his kid gets murdered and he doesn’t? Seriously. How come someone didn’t assassinate Henry when he was a known freak? They should’ve hauled him off from the get-go.”

  “Dude,” Kai says, “it’s a monarchy. He’s the guy in charge.”

  “So what? He’s a sicko, and they clearly should’ve stopped him.”

  Kai sighs, and the girls try to explain. Briony leans toward Rooster. “He has all the power. If you don’t obey him, you die.”

  Mouse adds, “You just hope to get through the game with your head still attached.”

  “Ah,” Reiko says, tapping her chin. “Now I have a story idea.”

  “I don’t know,” says Frye. “I think Zelda is an enabler.”

  “No, she’s not!” Lupe huffs.

  Frye doesn’t back down. “She lets it happen. Either that, or she’s just retarded.”

  I freeze up. Calling her retarded is just so wrong I don’t know where to start. I’d tell Frye off, except I’m chicken.

  But Pard is right on it. It’s like counting on the sun to burn. “Nice use of the R-word, you fucker.”

  “Pard,” Mr. Bailey warns, and Reeve scribbles on his clipboard.

  Pard’s sugary hand flips the bird in Frye’s direction, not that Frye’s looking. But I am. I hold my fist out to Pard. He’s surprised. He bumps my fist, does that little hand-slide across my palm.

  I let the conversation wash over me and run my thumb over the grains of sugar on my fingers. Then I pretend to scratch my chin.

  Fast as a lizard, I taste the sugar. Gross, I know, but it was from my doughnut.

  “Okay,” Lupe says, “that was an amazing story. Really made me smile. Ladies, let’s show Marcus our thanks, Zelda style.”

  Every single one of them turns a perfect doll’s head on her lovely neck, slow-mo, and gives Marcus a dead-eyed smile.

  REIKO’S TALE

  “You have to let me go next,” Reiko tells Mr. Bailey.

  Mr. Bailey holds his hat. “Shouldn’t I draw a name?” He’s been overruled so often now that he just asks us what the plan is.

  Lupe chants, “Rei-ko, or we won’t go!” twice, and he splutters, “Okay, okay, you’re on!”

  Reiko and Lupe slap fives.

  “So, my story’s like a companion of sorts to what Marcus gave us,” Reiko starts. “He did Henry VIII, but since we’re going to Washington, I thought we’d do something more American.”

  “That’s cool, but you have to say something about yourself first.” Frye smiles all flirty-like. “You know, what you like to do . . .”

  Reiko giggles. “I like to do it all.”

  A big Yeah! from Rooster.

  But Frye’s not finished. “What’s your idea of a perfect date?”

  Reiko looks both surprised and pleased by his question. “Mmm, that’s a hard one, but obviously it would have to be in the evening. I love the energy of a city at night. When my date picks me up and I open the door to meet him, I’d feel that delicious spark to see him there dressed up. We’d walk around the downtown, and then he’d take me to a nice restaurant. I like to know he can hold his own in a nice place. I mean, not just that he can afford it or use the right fork for the right course, but that he can carry on a conversation over a long, candlelit dinner.”

  Frye reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out something he hands to Reiko. Like he has a stash of trinkets in case a hot girl comes his way. “So,” he says, smiling as she puts on this candy ring from a dollar store, “at this romantic dinner, can the guy play footsie under the table? How far he can go?”

  Reiko arches an eyebrow like he’s pushing it, but her smile is a come-on. “Well, at the restaurant, a guy has to behave, right? He can make suggestions. And he’ll know how to read my cues on whether we can take it to another level. But this is my dream date, right? So after dinner we’d get a lot less formal. We’d go back to his city apartment and change into bathing suits and go for a soak in the hot tub on the roof. After that we’d figure something out.”

  “Mmmm, yes.” Frye sighs. “I have some ideas now. We’ll talk.”

  Their eye beams are having sex, and it’s gross. Painful. Even after giving up all hope, it hurts to know how much I don’t interest her. At all. I mean, she’s picking Frye, king of the one-night stand.

  Pard is drawing, looking hard at Reiko. I’m surprised he isn’t hiding his sketchbook. He has the outline of Reiko’s face, her shoulders. Her features emerge in strokes. It’s easier now to stare at Reiko through Pard’s eyes than my own, to see her becoming real rather than watching her fade like she has in my life. I watch the page as she banters with Frye and the others, until she finally begins her tale.

  So. Not long ago, a young woman arrived in Washington, D.C., for her internship.

  “Oh!” Saga slaps her thigh. “I saw this on HBO like a month ago. Is this that intern with the, um, compromised blue dress? Monica Lewinsky?”

  “I got the idea from that story, but this will be totally different,” Reiko insists. “I’m going to tell it Marcus-style.”

  “Like, creepy?” Lupe asks, a smile in her voice.

  I look up from Pard’s sketchbook quickly in time to see . . . drumroll! . . . Marcus blink.

  So let me start again. Virginia was thrilled to get the job. She and her father celebrated with a fancy dinner at her father’s favorite steak house. It had been only the two of them for a long time, since Virginia’s mother died. Her dad had connections in Washington
and helped to make this dream for his daughter come true, but he’d never say it that way. He’d say all her hard work made this happen.

  But they both knew the truth.

  “My girl,” he said, toasting her with a glass of wine. She drank Coke, of course. She was only nineteen. “You’ve come a long way.

  “And don’t forget to call if you need any advice,” he told her. “I don’t want you to get in over your head.”

  She looked up at all the glassy eyes of the heads mounted on the walls. Buffalo, moose, bucks.

  And does.

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  And when they left the restaurant and got to the car, he opened the door for her both times. Just like he did when they got to the airport the next morning. He always opened the door for her.

  After a short plane ride she was in Washington.

  She shook the senator’s hand, her own hand trembling, and could barely thank him.

  “Senator Lowell, I’m honored.”

  “Call me Dan, please,” he insisted. “And I hear you’re an early November birthday. You were born for politics!”

  She laughed. “That’s what my father said.” Her smile walled up the memory of her eighteenth birthday. Her father had proudly showed her the voter’s brochure that had arrived in the mail, addressed to her. On the inside of the brochure, on every column from the president to the local office on the back page, he’d circled the vote he expected her to cast. It was like being invited to a feast with your mouth sewn shut. She read it over before voting. She’d agreed with his opinions, some of them. She voted the way he wanted. It was what he expected.

  But now she was nineteen, and this summer internship was going to be a new start—a start for her own decisions. She could manage it, with this new opportunity away from home. She still had to fulfill her father’s expectations, but she could be herself, too.

  Dan was a good politician. Diplomatic. Careful. But Virginia never noticed how careful he really was. He never looked down her blouse unless she was busy gathering up the papers on his desk or leaning over the antique chessboard of his. He only ogled her from behind when she was fixing his coffee in the corner of his office. He’d picked out this intern by her photograph, but he took pains to hide his attention to her body. For the time being. He could tell she hadn’t come to D.C. for an affair and that she prided herself on her intellect rather than her body, but he liked a challenge.

  She did, however, notice the gorgeous intern that joined their office in her second week. Ryan, just a few years older than she was, looked like a movie star. She knew she shouldn’t be so attracted to a guy just for his body, but he was stunning. And he seemed to like her—a lot. One night he took her out to dinner, and she spent the night in his apartment. She knew her father would kill her if he knew, but it was so nice, so grown-up to be with a man in his apartment. He was more experienced, but she caught on quickly. She was a fast learner, after all.

  Then, just like that, he was transferred to an office in California. He promised to text her. He didn’t.

  It was midway through the summer, and she was spending all her time in Dan’s office. Maybe it was for the best she’d lost Ryan—it wasn’t like they ever really talked or had a relationship beyond the physical. Now she was available to help Dan whenever he needed her, for whatever he needed, and he appreciated her work so much. In his way he made her feel like a woman, too—grown and independent. Sometimes they played chess, and he’d ask for her political opinions and not just expect her to be the intern that fetches coffee, though she did that for him too. Of course, he encouraged her to pour herself a cup and make herself at home, and a couple times he made coffee for her, and they’d talk, informally, just open up about themselves. That was gratifying. Virginia was delighted when he’d ask for her view about the many things she cared about. She urged him to make better rebates for electric cars, to stop fracking, to stop corn and sugar lobbyists from controlling the nutritional labels on food products. He listened with such attention.

  Then, late one afternoon they were discussing the possibility of changing student loans so that students could default. Virginia was keen on pushing this bill forward after seeing some of her friends’ older siblings struggle with debt.

  Dan looked up from the stack of papers. “It’s nearly six,” he said. “Maybe we can keep working on this over dinner?”

  So they did just that, ordering takeout to keep working on the details to make the bill attractive to both parties. “There has to be a quid pro quo,” he explained over their takeout boxes. “The Republicans won’t pass this unless we give them something in return. The hope is to give them just enough, but we get the better deal, if that makes sense.”

  “I understand perfectly. You’re talking about negotiating compromise.”

  He tilted his head as he studied her face. “Most people here don’t understand compromise, but I have the feeling you do.”

  She looked at her hands in her lap. It felt like such a personal remark. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then, you’re ahead of people much older than you are. I’m not used to young people having such passion for the big issues and possessing such maturity,” Dan said. “I really think you’re going to go places.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Dan! That means a lot to me. It’s really a pleasure working under you.”

  Dan paused, like there was something huge he needed to say. Virginia could feel it coming but had no idea what it might be. “The pleasure is all mine,” Dan finally said, his voice husky. Then he pulled her toward him and thrust his tongue in her mouth.

  “Nasty,” Lupe says.

  “Senator Lowell.” Virginia gasped, pushing him off her and rising to her feet. “I—I have to go.”

  “A man in love will do crazy things,” he said. He was as calm as she was upset, but he tried to look nervous, like his heart was on the line and not just his prick. “I’d risk my career for you. You’re worth it, Virginia.”

  Now she felt bad for him. She’d fallen for someone too. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “Just think about it, won’t you?”

  Virginia shook her head. Senator Lowell seemed like the kind of man who needed to be told no—and only no—just to get the idea into his brain.

  “I won’t change my mind,” she said firmly. “My answer is no.”

  Virginia didn’t show up for work the next day. She called in sick. She thought of quitting but didn’t want to come home in defeat.

  Meanwhile, Senator Lowell had plenty of space and time to plan his next move. He didn’t need much time, really. He was good at judging character. It’s how he got elected, year after year.

  When Virginia came into work the following day, Dan called out to her from his office.

  “Virginia, won’t you come in?”

  Her hands trembled a little, but she knew nothing could happen. It was ten o’clock in the morning. Witnesses everywhere.

  When she finally entered his office, Dan’s back was toward her. He was studying the pieces on his chessboard.

  “Oh, close the door, please.” She did so against her will. “Did you know that, in the early life of chess, the queen used to be a man?”

  She stared at the board, curious in spite of herself. “No, I didn’t.”

  “He was the grand vizier, the king’s advisor. He could only move diagonally one space. In the Middle Ages, someone had the idea of making it the most powerful piece on the board, and he became a she. A queen, reflecting the power of her king. She became the piece every opponent can’t help but want to capture. There’s something so satisfying about using weaker pieces to bring down all that strength. Don’t you think?”

  Virginia’s skin crawled. She was the queen he wanted to capture.

  “The queen has all the vitality, but the king carries the game. What would the king say if he saw this?”

  Dan pulled out his phone and played a video. It was Virginia with Ryan, in his apartment, making love in one
of the positions Ryan had taught her. She watched the ecstasy on her face as she did things to him, and he did things to her.

  She put her hand on her churning stomach. This wasn’t just thoughtless betrayal. Not just a guy recording things with his phone and leaving that phone in the wrong place. It wasn’t just one camera recording the scene. There were two points of view, and the footage shifted between them, expertly spliced and edited to show Virginia’s face and body.

  “Should I e-mail this to your father? Or just blast it on the Internet? What does the queen say, Virginia?”

  The video showed everything. Everything. Her father would kill her.

  “Come on, Virginia. Give me one night, and this video will disappear.”

  Most girls in that situation might blurt out no and run, but Virginia’s fear of offending her father was strong. She could agree to this, and her father would never know. That was tempting. She knew all about compromise and doing what someone else wanted at the expense of her own life. She was trained to obey such men.

  “How do I know you’d actually destroy the file?”

  He put a hand on his heart. “Virginia, I’m shocked! You have my word. When can I see you? I have a formal dinner this evening, sadly, but what about tomorrow night?”

  “All right,” she whispered, not knowing if she was really agreeing or not, and hating herself for being unsure.

  “Good, then!” He took a bite of the muffin on his table. He wiped his fingers on a greasy napkin, picked up the chess queen, and kissed it. “It’s a date.”

  Virginia left the office, but not before catching an unexpected glimpse of Ryan. He fled at the sight of her. So he wasn’t reassigned to work in California after all. She tried to follow him down the hallway, but he turned a corner, and she lost him.

  He must have been the knight on the board, then, designed to take her down. And she was trapped with Dan, the enemy king who was prepared to do diagonal moves all over her tomorrow night.

  What if some footage of her and Dan went public? What then?

  A clip of Virginia and Ryan was one thing, but Dan was older than her father. It would be humiliating for that to go public. And disgusting to let him do it to her in private.