Give Me Your Answer True

by Suanne Laqueur

  She turned her head slightly from his fruity breath and cigarette scent. “Go away, David,” she said.

  He tried to take both her arms. She kept her hands in her pockets and stepped away. “David, please don’t touch me.”

  He followed. In her face, babbling apologies in French and pulling at her.

  “Dude, knock it off,” Lucky said. “You’ve upset her enough.”

  “C’mon, honey, be nice,” Taylor said, putting an arm around him, playing good cop.

  He bucked backward, pushing Taylor away.

  “David,” Lucky cried.

  Daisy felt her eyes widen and her hands came out of her pockets. She planted them in David’s chest and shoved him, hard. “What is wrong with you?” she said, her voice raised and echoing down the street.

  He grabbed her wrists. She dug her heels and pulled out of his grasp. He released her and she skipped backward, fell flat on her ass.

  I hate you, she thought, and the tears spilled down her face.

  Strong hands scooped under her armpits then and she was being picked up and put on her feet as a voice spoke over her head. “Evening, ladies.”

  It was Will. Tall and fresh in jeans and a tight black shirt, his hair down and a crackling, sexy energy in his stance. He brushed off Daisy’s back. “Your tailbone all right?” he said.

  She nodded, smearing the heel of her hand across her eyes.

  “Let me handle this.” Will tucked her beneath his tattooed arm and sauntered with her over to Dave. “What’s up, asshole?”

  “What do you want, faggot?”

  “Hey, hey,” Will’s voice was mild. “Don’t get all pissy with me.”

  “Why don’t you and your boyfriend get lost?”

  Daisy looked back and saw Matt Lombardi, one of the senior dancers who was apparently out with Will tonight. He flicked his brows up and rolled his eyes.

  “Why don’t you explain why you’re shoving girls around?” Will’s hand rested strong on the back of Daisy’s neck and her heart began to slow down.

  “I wasn’t shoving her.”

  “Looked like it to me. I don’t like seeing that shit, Dave, least of all with my partner. I happen to have a vested interest in her ass.”

  “Yeah, I know where your interest in asses is vested, Kaeger.”

  Lucky came by Daisy’s other side and threaded a possessive arm with hers. David had his back and the sole of one foot against a lamp post, lighting a cigarette.

  Will’s arm slid from Daisy’s shoulder and he took a step toward David. But then stopped and looked back, not at Daisy but beside her.

  “Hi, I’m Will,” he said.

  “I’m Lucky.”

  A breeze came down the street and blew Will’s hair back from his face. His bottom lip retreated a fraction, then his smile unfolded.

  “So am I,” he said, painfully beautiful under the streetlights.

  Lucky’s expression was unreadable, but her fingers curled like talons into Daisy’s forearm.

  Will turned back to David. “C’mon, man. You should go home.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’m not. I’m just giving you some advice. Can I bum one of those?”

  “Jesus,” David muttered, but he reached back in his inside pocket.

  “I brought my own,” Matt said, sidling up and lighting up.

  “Great,” David said, exhaling smoke. “The hags and the fags. What a banner fucking night.”

  Will leaned back from the trio and looked at Daisy. “Go home,” he mouthed. He pointed at Lucky with a you-go-with gesture.

  The girls moved a few steps away.

  “Dais, I’m sorry,” David said.

  Daisy looked back. He was between Matt and Will’s shoulders, trying to follow her, but they were having none of it.

  “Tell her tomorrow,” Matt said.

  “Yeah, apologies are better given sober, man.”

  “Come on, children,” Taylor said. “Let’s find a party.”

  But Daisy had lost interest in the evening. “I’m going home.”

  “Yeah, I’m done, too,” Lucky said, patting back a fake yawn.

  Taylor shrugged, kissed them, and set out alone. Her chin out, long stride and boots echoing clacketa-thump, clacketa-thump behind her.

  “Oh my God,” Lucky said, still squeezing Daisy’s arm. “Oh my God, who is he?”

  “He is Will.”

  “Did you feel it? Am I crazy? Did you feel that chemistry?”

  “I felt it,” Daisy said.

  “Jesus,” Lucky said, looking back over her shoulder once more. “The way he took control of the situation without throwing his dick around? It was hot. David was eating out of his hand.”

  “He’s got a charm.”

  “You all right? How’s your ass?”

  “My ass is fine and I’m pissed off.”

  “Let’s go get a Sara Lee cake. Take it back to your room and get fat.”

  Daisy shook her head. “I have a costume fitting tomorrow.”

  “Ugh, you dancers. Fine, I’ll get one and you can watch me get fat.”

  As a consolation, Daisy got herself an ice cream sandwich. It soothed for about five minutes and then she was chilled off. Back in her room, she pulled on her warmest sweats and flopped face-down on her bed.

  “I hate boys.”

  Lucky cut a generous slice of chocolate cake. “David is not all boys. Clearly he’s nuts about you, but he can’t hold his emotional liquor. Which is not sexy.” She licked her fingers. “Will, on the other hand…”

  Daisy rolled on her elbow. “You’ve got him in your crosshairs.”

  “God, he is sexy. But what was all David’s gay blather? Is that an inside joke?”

  “I hear it a lot,” Daisy said. “That he bats for both sides.”

  “You’ve seen? Or only heard?”

  “Only heard. The consensus is he’s straight with a slight bend.”

  Lucky carefully ran the blunt side of the icing-encrusted knife along her tongue. “What’s your thought?”

  “He’s comfortable in anyone’s company. An equal opportunity flirt. Actually, no, I take that back. I wouldn’t call him a flirt. He’s not an attention-seeker and nothing he does is for shock value. He is who he is and honestly doesn’t give a shit what other people think.”

  “Interesting,” Lucky said, setting the lid on the tin and folding the foil edges down. “Straight with a slight bend and no fucks to give.”

  “Would it bother you if he were bisexual?”

  “No.” Sitting on the floor, ankles crossed, her arms stretched wide along the iron bed frame, Lucky looked both sated and hungry. “He could sleep with trees for all I care. I just want to taste his tattoos.”

  Daisy laughed, rolling onto her back.

  “You don’t mind me going after him, do you?”

  “Mind? No. He’s my partner. And not to dismiss your crush but, he’s not really my type.”

  “What is your type?”

  Daisy opened her mouth, stuck for an answer when a knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

  It was Will. “Just checking that everyone’s ass is accounted for,” he said.

  “Speaking of which, where’s David?” Lucky asked.

  “Passed out. No longer a threat to society.”

  “Is he always such a douche?” Lucky said, tossing her curls back.

  “He’s an orphan,” Daisy said and Will glanced over at her, nodding, his expression thoughtful.

  “That’s how I look at it, too,” he said. “He wants to be loved. He just has a terrible way of asking for it.”

  “Well, thanks for coming to the rescue,” Daisy said. “Your timing was perfect. As usual.”

  Will’s broad shoulders shrugged. “I could’ve kicked his ass but I wanted to spare him the humiliation. I’m kind of stupid that way. Hey, is that cake?”

  “It is,” Lucky said, getting up. “And I need to get it into my fridge.”

 
; She put the cake box into Will’s hand and shrugged into her jacket. As if they’d been acquainted for years, Will reached to help with a sleeve. His eyes slid up and down her back. He looked hungry as well.

  “Want me to walk you home?” he said.

  Lucky winked at Daisy. Turning around, she drew her hair out from beneath her collar and took the box from Will. “Sure.”

  Oh boy, Daisy thought, but said nothing as she lifted her face, first for Lucky’s kiss, then Will’s.

  “Bonne nuit,” Will said.

  “Doux rêves.”

  “C’est la vie?” Lucky said.

  “It’s a start,” Will said. And the door closed.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Mallory Hall’s costume department was a zoo.

  “Can you come back in an hour?” the frazzled wardrobe mistress asked Daisy. “Three of my slaves called in sick. It’s not even Mardi Gras.”

  Dancers knew it wasn’t wise to be disagreeable with the woman who handled your costume. Daisy assured her it was no trouble and headed over to the campus center to get some breakfast.

  She saw David sitting in a booth. Plugged into his Walkman, he was hunched over a Styrofoam cup as though judging whether it could hold the weight of his head.

  No other tables were free. Without thinking twice, she slid into the bench opposite David and gave him a small smile. He looked like hell, his wet hair combed straight back from his face, revealing bloodshot eyes. A tremor in his hands as they reached up and took off the earphones.

  “Hi.” His voice was sludgy and he cleared his throat.

  She smiled again, blew on her hot tea and took a careful sip. “What are you listening to?”

  “Beethoven. Helps with a hangover.”

  “Does it?”

  “No.”

  She held out her hand and he gave her the earphones. He rewound the tape a little and hit the play button. Cellos and violas filled her ears. A somber two-note ostinato repeating, unfolding into a theme. Simple. Like the tune to a child’s nursery rhyme. The theme was handed off to the violins and a second variation played under it. The phrases wound together like two dancers.

  She took one earpiece away. “What is this?”

  “Second movement of the Seventh Symphony.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “When one theme plays on top of the other, it’s so simple but it’s…”

  “A string of beauties hand-in-hand,” David said.

  Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

  “Someone famous said that, I don’t remember who. Christ, my head.” He lit a cigarette and slid the pack across to her. After a few more measures, she stopped the tape and put the earphones back on the table.

  “My parents loved the Seventh,” he said in French, running his fingers along the edge of the Walkman.

  “You said they were musicians.”

  He nodded. “In the Orchestre National de Belgique. My father played cello, my mom the violin. They used to play the second movement all the time. Or sing it. Sing all the parts.” He put the cigarette in his mouth and ran both hands through his thick hair. Exhaled a ribbon of smoke and flicked the ashes. “Yesterday was the anniversary of the car accident.”

  “I see,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I should know better than to go out in public. I usually hole up alone or something.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone,” she said.

  He shrugged.

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  He looked over her shoulder, smoking. “I’m sorry I was a dick,” he said softly. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything you had going on. It’s just… You smell like sugar and you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my damn life and I don’t know why it makes me act like such an asshole.”

  She smiled. “Could I see the ring again?”

  He slid it off, shook apart the silver bands and handed it to her.

  “Do you have any pictures of your parents?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Will you show me sometime?”

  From under the visor of his hand he looked up at her. Slowly, he nodded.

  A boy walked up to the booth, indignant and annoyed. “Dave, what the fuck, I’m looking everywhere for you.”

  “Shit, what time is it,” Dave said, exploding into action, gathering Walkman and jacket.

  “Half past your ass is late,” the boy said, then looked at Daisy. “Hi, I’m Neil.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” David said. “Neil Martinez, my roommate. This is Daisy. My…friend.”

  “Oh, you’re Daisy,” Neil said, his smile turning up. “I’ve heard—”

  “Nothing,” David said, smacking the back of his hand against Neil’s chest. “You’ve heard nothing.”

  “What are you late for?” Daisy asked.

  “String ensemble concert,” Neil said. “We’re running lights.”

  “And we’re late,” David said, nudging Neil along. “Say goodbye.”

  “Good meeting you,” Neil called over his shoulder. “Finally.”

  Shaking her head, Daisy continued playing with the ring another minute before it dawned on her David left without it. And his smokes. And his coffee.

  She drummed her fingers on the table, thinking, then gathered the smokes and ring into her pocket. She went to the deli and got an egg and cheese sandwich, topped up the coffee cup and walked out of the campus center into the cold morning sunshine, toward Mallory Hall.

  The theater was filled with the echoing bangs and clangs of chairs being set up onstage. In the glassed-in booth at the back of the house, David and Neil were organizing papers and equipment. Daisy tapped her fingernails on the door.

  “Room service,” she said, putting down the sandwich and coffee.

  David’s head whipped around and he got to his feet, staring. She found herself smiling at his stance, knowing it was unconscious and ingrained: he was raised to stand when a lady came into the room.

  “And lost and found,” she said, adding the ring and pack of cigarettes. She glanced at Neil’s interested expression and decided she didn’t want to embarrass David any more than necessary.

  “I bring food and friendship,” she said in French. “It’s yours if you want it.”

  He nodded with a closed-mouth smile. “I want it.”

  “Ça y est.” With a wave she left the booth.

  “EVEN WHEN DAVID WAS BEING AN ASSHOLE something always tapped the back of my mind and reminded me he was an orphan,” Daisy said. “He lost his parents. He was taken away from the home he loved, away from music and art and this magical childhood. He did show me pictures of his years in Belgium and they broke my heart. I couldn’t love him, but I wanted to be kind to him. Anyway, am I losing you?”

  “No.” Rita smiled. “And it’s not about my entertainment.”

  “I know. Where was I?”

  Rita didn’t answer and by now, Daisy wasn’t expecting her to. She sat and waited for her train of thought to circle back around. Or for a new thought.

  “So I reached a truce of sorts with David. Food was a thing with us. I’d bring him a snack or lunch and we’d have a running gag about the tab and who owed who money. And his roommate Neil would call me Marge and Dave would get possessive. ‘Hey, only I call her Marge.’ So we had our bits and our jokes and it felt like we were friends. Or at least friendlier.”

  “Must have been a relief.”

  “Lucky moved in with me. And I loved having her for a roommate. We got along so well. Meanwhile she and Will were having the mother of all affairs but not in a way that was exclusionary. Sometimes I’d see these couples hook up and they’d get sucked into a black hole. Drop out of sight for three weeks and then emerge looking like they’d been on a bender in Vegas. Lucky spent a lot of nights at Will’s suite—he had the single room so they could be alone at night, but he’d also come hang in our room and sleep over sometimes.” Her eyes turned to the wall, looked through the sable grey to the past. “I liked when he did.”

 
“How so?”

  “It made me feel included. And it was a different side of Will. He projected such an aura of self-confidence. It was interesting to see him tender and sweet and a little vulnerable. I’d watch them sleep, fascinated by how they held each other and how their breathing matched. His hand in her hair and her face in his chest. I was trying to imagine what it would be like. A boy sleeping with me, sharing my covers and pillows. Breathing on me.”

  Rita laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, a hand to her mouth. “I’m only laughing because I had the same moment in college.”

  “I liked Will being in the room. I trusted him so much as a partner and it felt natural with him sleeping close by. Sometimes we’d all lie awake talking in the dark before we fell asleep. Goodnight, John Boy. Goodnight, Mary Ellen.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, gazing back at the past again. “In high school you were never quite sure who was or wasn’t doing it. In college, it was out in the open. People made and arranged and rearranged their sleeping conditions to suit them. Sex was everywhere. And I would watch Will and Lucky together and it made me want…”

  Her thoughts trailed off and her eyes softened, remembering Will’s tattooed arms crossed over Lucky’s body. How small Lucky looked in his arms. Lucky, whose mother told her she was fat.

  “Will made her feel beautiful. Everything Lucky’s mother found fault with, Will loved. Her body. Her hair and her curves. Her style and her manner, her thoughts and dreams. She said to me once, ‘It’s like he’s given myself back to me.’”

  She looked up at Rita. “I love that. Someone who gives yourself back to you.”

  Rita leaned in her chair and trailed a finger along one of the lower bookshelves. She pulled forth a hardcover book and turned the front to Daisy. The Collected Works of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

  “Have you read any of his work?”

  “Only The Little Prince.”

  “He says essentially the same thing. ‘Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself.’”

  Daisy took the book and ran her thumb across the page edges. “Can I borrow this?”

  “If you like.”

  Daisy tucked it beside her. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  Rita smiled. “What do you believe?”