TOURIST ATTRACTIONS

by Molly J. Ringle

  "You think he-- No, it isn't, he wouldn't-- If it is, that's not what he meant to-- Aarghh! I really don't want to think about this."

  "Didn't we used to wonder?" she said. "All those girls he dated, who we never really knew; we could never ask them what he liked, or if he even tried anything. Remember?"

  "I suppose. Now that you bring it up."

  This was true. He had always found dates from outside Wild Rose, girls who attended other schools, or girls from college, or relatives of people who worked with his father. Never a date we could corner in Humanities the next day and ask salacious details from. We occasionally asked Laurence himself, but he was like the world's best spy when it came to not talking.

  "So my guess," Eileen purred, "is that he does, in fact, smolder under the sheets."

  "I do not want to know that," I said pointedly, though in truth I did want to know. Damn me and my gossip-hungry mind!

  The only other scary part of that exchange--other than the idea of Eileen arousing Laurence--was how close I came to saying, Gil smolders under the sheets, I can tell you that. I had to put down my turkey sandwich when I realized that those words had almost escaped my mouth. It made my stomach do a somersault.

  In early December, when Edinburgh was festooned with Christmas lights and garlands, which was a good thing, since there was even less daylight than there had been in November, Gil showed up at our rendezvous spot glowing with cheer. He was also wearing a red and green elf hat with jingle bells at the tip, which flopped over to his neck.

  "Cute," I said.

  "Oh, aye; me heid was getting cold, so I dug this oot my cupboard. But guess what?" He slung his arm around me and started us walking. "I've got an interview next week. I met some bloke at the pub who does sound effects editing for radio and television, and he left me his card and had me call him. An' so I did, and now I'm to go talk to him aboot working there."

  "Congratulations!" I stopped and kissed him on the street, under a brightly strung garland that said Merry Christmas in Gaelic. "Did you do much in the way of sound effects before?"

  "Only a little, if the bands wanted it mixed in. I'd of course rather be working with musicians, but at least it's the right direction."

  "Exactly. I'm very happy for you." I squeezed him.

  "So, tomorrow then, will ye come shopping for a suit with me?"

  "You're really going to do that?"

  "Aye. Thought it was time I owned a respectable ootfit, don't you?"

  I cast a stealthy glance from his elf hat to his grayish athletic shoes with the reflective orange swatches on the heels.

  "I would never say that," I said.

  Chapter Twelve

  Unexpected Visit

  I had the next day off, and Gil didn't have to work until the evening, so we agreed to meet in the morning and then hit the department stores. When I breezed out of the third floor doors, I met Laurence coming down the stairs from fourth, similarly attired in overcoat, scarf, and gloves.

  "Going out?" I asked. I was in a good mood. The sun had just risen and it was actually looking to be a clear day. Cold, undoubtedly, but at least sunny.

  "Yep," he said. "Thought I'd pick up some haggis and give it a whirl. I've read up on the ingredients and I'm convinced it's no worse than sausage."

  "You're brave," I laughed.

  "I'm making you try it, too, girlie, so don't laugh yet."

  "All right, it can't be worse than pub-fried fish."

  We pushed through the double doors and emerged into the pale sunlight. "Should've brought sunglasses," he commented, as we began walking down the street. "So what are you up to in the city today?"

  "I'm...meeting Gil, actually," I said, a little sheepishly. We hadn't really discussed him for weeks, and I half hoped that Laurence assumed the affair was over.

  But he only nodded, squinting ahead at the crowded sidewalks. Then he opened his mouth slowly. "I don't have the best vision," he said, "but--getting out of that cab, with the suitcase--doesn't that look like..."

  "Tony," I gasped.

  He was wearing his cozy black ski coat with the hood fallen back on his shoulders, and was leaning into the cab to pay the driver.

  I wanted to scream and cry with fear.

  I also wanted to run and hug him and laugh with joy.

  What I did was stand there petrified.

  "It is him, isn't it," Laurence said, as close to astonishment as Laurence ever got.

  "Yeah. I can't figure...he never said he was...oh, my God."

  "Don't look now, but your laddie's coming."

  I looked to my left to see Gil strolling down the sidewalk, between clumps of holiday shoppers, elf hat bells jumping merrily.

  What a nightmare.

  "I'll head him off," Laurence muttered, just as the cab pulled away and Tony turned around with his suitcase in hand.

  Tony spotted me and his face positively lit up. We rushed toward each other--he with joy, I to avert the path that was bringing Gil closer.

  "Wow! That was easy," he said, in the warm, familiar, American altar-boy voice that tugged at my heart. "I thought I'd have to wander all over town looking for you. Thanks, God!" And he dropped his suitcase and hugged me so tight that he lifted me off the ground.

  I was trembling. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "Is anything wrong?"

  "No, of course not," he laughed. "I wanted to surprise you. Remember you suggested I should come visit? Bet you didn't know I actually saved up for it." He grinned and gave me a long kiss. I had forgotten how luscious and rosy his lips were.

  I stole a glance leftward, and saw Laurence leading Gil away, talking conversationally to him. Gil frowned over his shoulder and caught my eye for a moment. Then the other people on the sidewalk closed in between us, and I couldn't see him anymore.

  "That was a really long flight," Tony was saying to me. "I see why it knocked you guys out."

  I looked at him and forced a smile. "You seem okay."

  "That's because I knew I would get to see you soon. And Edinburgh!" He turned around, taking it all in: the castle on the rock, the church spires, the Christmas garlands, the gardens with their iron fences. "This is so cool. I see why you haven't written much lately. I'd be out here exploring every second I could."

  "Yeah--I'm sorry about that..."

  "No no, it's okay." He picked up his suitcase and cuddled me close to him with the other arm. "I hope there's room in your hostel?"

  "Probably. We should've asked Laurence; he works for them. But he..." I looked over my shoulder again, dying to know what was transpiring right now between Gil and Laurence.

  "Yeah, he took off kind of fast. Wondered why he didn't say hello."

  "He was late. Had to meet someone. I'm sure he'll be happy to talk to you later."

  I bet he would. Please God, don't let him tell Tony about Gil. Please, not yet. I was supposed to get another three months' reprieve.

  We got Tony checked into the hostel easily enough. There was even a spare bed in Room 17. It turned out he would only be there for five days; I admit to feeling guilty relief at hearing that figure.

  After we had gone upstairs and found a corner for his suitcase in the room, he trapped me against the wooden ladder of my bunk bed and kissed me again. Ridiculously, I hoped he wouldn't notice any new styles or habits I might have picked up from Gil.

  He didn't. He released me and said, "You look absolutely great."

  "I do?"

  "Yeah! Your hair, and your face, and...you just look so healthy ." He touched my head in the various places as he spoke.

  This was somewhat surprising, considering the headaches, crabbiness, and food poisoning I had started my sojourn with. But lately I had been eating real food: meat, cheese, and vegetables, and water or tea instead of coffee; and Laurence had told me that people who ate well and steered clear of the nasty chemicals developed glossier hair and smoother flesh. It had to do with providing the essential fats and oils.

  Besides that, I had probab
ly been walking for three hours a night, on average, thanks to Gil. The exercise was bound to pay off.

  "Truth be told, I do feel pretty healthy," I answered.

  He was in the process of grinning, nuzzling my nose, and kissing me, when a soft cough came from across the room.

  I had thought we were alone. I started, and looked over to see Cathy lying in the shadows of her lower bunk, propped up on one elbow, reading a library book.

  "Oh! Sorry, Cathy," I said, attempting to sound polite. "I didn't know you were in here."

  Her eyes lifted, glowering like an annoyed cat at us.

  "This is my boyfriend Tony," I said. "He came to visit. Tony, this is Cathy. She's from New Mexico."

  "Hello," Tony said obligingly, and waved.

  "Hi," she allowed. Her eyes dropped to the book again, but she added the question: "Catholic?"

  At least she didn't say Papist.

  "Yes," Tony said, surprised. "Oh. Eva must have told you."

  "No. 'St. Mary's' with a crucifix usually means Catholic." Her glance flickered across the floor to Tony's suitcase, which wore a sticker from the church as well as a luggage tag from the airline.

  "Oh!" He chuckled. "So it does. Very good."

  She was no longer looking at us or at our possessions. Tony seemed about to ask her something else, to be polite, but I warned him off with a look, and steered him out of the room and down to the kitchen.

  "She's a fundamentalist. A weird one," I said in the stairwell. "Laurence ripped her to shreds our first day here."

  "Hmm. Poor girl."

  "Don't feel too sorry for her. She'll rip you to shreds if you insist on being Catholic near her."

  "Oh, okay. I guess I won't set up the font of holy water and observe Vespers in Latin tonight," he said.

  He was so good-natured. I had forgotten, what with the impudent Gil and the tart-tongued Laurence as my male companions lately.

  Of course, thinking of those two made my smile keel off-kilter. What was Laurence telling Gil? What was Gil telling Laurence? What would happen when I saw either of them next?

  Despite his cheeriness, Tony was in fact very tired, and we returned to Room 17 after a little while. He fell asleep on my bunk, his head in my lap, while I sat with my back against the wall and tried to read a book.

  It was an agonizing three hours. Cathy, at least, left the room early on, but I could only stare at the words in the book, not grasp their meaning, and wonder every five seconds if the sounds in the hallway were Laurence returning.

  By now it would have occurred to an outsider to wonder: what exactly does Eva Sonneborn think she's doing? I had put that question to myself a hundred times. It's just that an answer had never seemed so necessary until today, with Tony asleep on my lap, on a surprise visit deep into the badlands of betrayal.

  If I liked Gil so much, why not break up with Tony?

  Answer: because that was a silly, over-romantic idea. Unless I married Gil, it would be difficult for me to legally stay in Scotland, or for him to stay in the U.S. And good Lord, I did not want to marry him. Maybe when he grew up a little, maybe when he had a steadier job that could support somebody, maybe when he no longer lived with his parents and knew how to dress himself properly, maybe then Gilleon Leslie would be marriage material.

  But it wasn't just a choice between Gil and Tony--it was a choice between Gil and my entire family, my native landscape. In such a contest, Oregon and the Sonneborn household would win hands-down. They were home. No force on Earth could trump that.

  Besides, even if Gil and I were ideally situated, we were still only 22, and had only known each other for two months. A serious relationship, or, for heaven's sake, marriage, was not a reasonable thing to expect from this.

  And, I reminded myself, a serious relationship had not been the point of this. This was only supposed to be, as the Brits said, a bit of fun. This was my bachelorette party. And Tony, the supposed bridegroom, was not supposed to barge in here and meet the stripper.

  Okay, so the thing with Gil was not serious; at least, not yet. So why not pinch it out before it got serious? Quit this fooling around and devote myself to the boy who does love me, who is waiting to marry me. Cut the ties of the Scottish treat before he gets too attached. I was acting like...like a bored housewife. Couldn't let him go because I liked the cuddling so much.

  Nonsense. I could live without making out for three months. I'd done it before. That wasn't why I kept Gil around. Then why?

  Because he made me feel like a success in Scotland. All right, Psychology major, let's admit that right off. I wanted to break through the culture barrier and become more than a "token tourist" to some local lad, and I actually did it.

  Yay for Eva! I'm sure no American female in a foreign land ever thought of that approach before.

  My lips twisted in irritation at the thought that I wasn't even original. But that wasn't really why I had gone after Gil, was it? Surely there was another reason?

  Oh, yes. There was.

  I sighed, and let my hand fall to Tony's soft, dark hair. Because to make sure that this was the right boy for me, I had to venture out of town and try a different one.

  Now, after sampling one, I wasn't sure if either of them was right for me.

  Maybe a really courageous girl would have dumped them both, gone and seen the world, found herself like Cathy there was doing (no, wait, it was Jesus she was finding), and then been able to decide what kind of man she needed--if any.

  But Eva Sonneborn was not known for her courage. If Tony failed me, I wanted Gil as a second line of defense. That was what it came down to. After all this trouble, I was at least entitled to one of them, wasn't I? It would be a downright waste to throw them both away.

  Besides, I worried what would become of Gil if I abandoned him. With my help--or so I flattered myself--he had begun to climb out of his disorderly depression and was just blossoming into a self-respecting adult again. There would be no jumping onto railroad tracks when I was through with him.

  But it was too early to hurt him now. I had three months left in which I intended to let him go gently.

  Or maybe Laurence had already let him go for me.

  I removed my hand from Tony's hair and squeezed the book in frustration. Where were they? What were they doing?

  Eileen got back first. She banged into Room 17, humming a tune, still surrounded by December air, and stopped when she saw me with a dark body across my lap.

  "Who the..." she started.

  Tony, with a deep breath of someone freshly awake, sat up and turned his head toward her. His features creaked into a smile. "Hey, Eileen."

  "Oh, my God," she said. Then she laughed, dropped her purse, and came over to slug him on the shoulder. "Hey, Anthony! What you doing here?"

  "Surprising you guys," he yawned.

  "Damn straight. Did you just get here?"

  "Red-eye from Chicago from Portland."

  "Just in time for the holidays. Seen the sights yet?"

  And on and on. This was the friendliest they had ever been with each other. Apparently absence made the heart grow fonder. Or maybe the surly Cathy had made Tony look like a kitten, in terms of religious rectitude, in Eileen's eyes.

  Within five minutes she was offering to show him St. Margaret's Chapel up at Edinburgh Castle, and St. Giles, and St. Mary's, and High Kirk of Whatnot, and he was becoming alert and interested.

  Amazing--there was something that excited both of them. Eileen liked ancient churches because they were packed to the rafters with blood-drenched history and martyred screams; Tony liked them because they were... well, churches. But he would be interested in the blood and the martyrs, too. Catholics have an appreciation for these things.

  In the middle of their discussion, I cut in to ask Eileen, "Is Laurence back yet?"

  She paused, mid-sentence, and answered, "No, but I saw him with that bartender guy earlier. They were on Princes Street."

  My heart flip-flopped in the air. She me
ntioned Gil in front of Tony! But she dropped the subject just as quickly as she had picked it up, and went on with her ghost story.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Laurence and Gil

  Sharon came home soon, shrieked with delight to see Tony, and spent about half an hour bouncing and hugging him. But still no Laurence.

  I had never in my life wanted to see Laurence so much.

  We all went down to the kitchen for a snack. I was too distracted to eat. I fretted near the windowsill, and kept looking out at the brick-paved street.