Testing Kate

by Whitney Gaskell

  Nick and I walked along in a companionable silence. Neither of us was inclined to join in the fray or tempted by one of the karaoke bars or touristy jazz clubs, which required all patrons to buy a minimum of two overpriced, watered-down drinks apiece.

  “Are you hungry?” Nick asked.

  “Not at all,” I said. The oily bar food was shifting uncomfortably in my stomach, and the tinge of a future hangover started to press at my temples. If I ever ate again, I decided, I’d only consume clean-tasting foods, like salad and lemon Jell-O.

  “I’m not either. Let’s go over that way,” he said, pointing with his chin.

  We headed toward Jackson Square, sidestepping a guy in his late twenties, well past the age when his muscle had started to be replaced by fat, hunched over and puking on the street while his friends watched and hooted with laughter.

  “Now you’ve got room for more beer,” one of them shouted.

  “Laissez les bons temps rouler,” Nick said. “Let the good times roll.”

  The music faded behind us as we entered Jackson Square. There were still throngs of people milling around the park, admiring St. Louis Cathedral and grouping around a man behind a hot-dog-shaped booth, who yelled, “Lucky dogs! Get yo’ lucky dogs!”

  Around the perimeter of Jackson Square, enterprising artists were selling paintings and photographs and drawings. Some weren’t bad; others were awful. I stopped by one artist, who was starting to pack up his paintings now that night was falling.

  “Those are amazing,” I said, admiring the vivid canvases. They were painted with bold modern stripes of scarlet and gold and violet, color combinations that probably should have looked discordant but didn’t.

  “That’s one of my favorites,” the artist said, nodding at the canvas I was admiring. It was red, with horizontal slashes of gold and black through the middle. “I’ll make you a good deal on it.”

  I turned and smiled apologetically at him, only then noticing that the artist was so gaunt, his clavicle bones looked like they’d cut through his skin. He was wearing one of those Russian fur hats with the flaps that come down over the ears and a heavy wool cardigan sweater. He was ill, I realized, maybe even terminal. Sympathy stabbed at me, along with a flash of guilt. There were worse fates in life than getting screwed on a law-school exam. It was so easy to lose perspective.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not really in a position to buy right now,” I said. “I’m a student.”

  “What do you study?”

  “Law, at Tulane.”

  “That’s impressive,” the man said.

  Was it? I thought, wondering why it didn’t feel that way.

  “HIV?” Nick murmured in my ear once we’d moved on.

  I nodded. “Or cancer,” I said, and my throat closed up.

  When we reached the far end of the park, we paused. If we kept walking straight ahead, we’d be heading down a dark and isolated street. It wasn’t a smart idea to start wandering blindly around the French Quarter at night.

  “If we’re not going to go to a bar or a restaurant, what do you want to do? What else is there to do down here?” I asked.

  “Get our fortunes read,” Nick said, nodding to a woman sitting off to the side at the corner of the park. There was a cart beside her, adorned with stars and pictures of cards and voodoo dolls and stenciled in black letters:

  HAVE YOUR FORTUNE READ BY A GENUINE VOODOO PRIESTESS.

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Nick said. He stepped toward the so-called voodoo priestess, a dark woman with smooth skin that didn’t betray her age. I couldn’t tell if she was thirty or sixty, or somewhere in between. She was dressed in a long orange skirt and black shawl, and a flowing red scarf topped her braided hair. “How much to have our fortunes read?”

  The voodoo priestess appraised us, her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Ten dollars each,” she finally said.

  “Nick, come on,” I said, pulling his shirtsleeve. “That’s a total rip-off.”

  “No, I want to find out how I did on my finals,” Nick said. He pulled out his wallet and handed the voodoo priestess a twenty-dollar bill.

  “This is what comes of drinking in the middle of the afternoon,” I commented.

  “Don’t mind her, she’s a nonbeliever,” Nick told the priestess.

  The voodoo priestess wasn’t paying much attention to either of us. She plucked the bill from Nick’s hand and tucked it into her skirt pocket. Then she pulled a deck of tarot cards from another pocket and began to shuffle them on the cart. Nick sat down in the folding wooden chair on the opposite side of the cart and waited. When she finished shuffling, she handed the cards to Nick.

  “Cut the deck,” she said.

  Nick did so and then handed the deck back to the priestess. She dealt out four cards, facedown, in a diamond arrangement. She turned the cards over one by one and examined them.

  “Be straight with me—how long do I have to live?” Nick joked.

  The woman gave him a stern look. “The tarot can be a powerful tool, but only if its powers are believed,” she said.

  Nick nodded and looked chagrined, although when the priestess bent back over the cards, he winked at me.

  “This is the Fool card,” the priestess said, tapping her finger on the card at the top of the diamond.

  I snorted. “Maybe there is something to this after all.”

  “Hey now,” Nick said. “What does it mean?”

  “That you are living in the moment and letting go of expectation. It can also mean you’re accepting your fate,” the priestess said.

  “So, I should accept that my fate is to be a lawyer and give up my dream of becoming an astronaut?” Nick asked, straight-faced.

  “You wanted to be an astronaut?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Either that or a ninja,” Nick said. “Either one would be a kick-ass job.”

  “This card here,” the priestess said, as though Nick had not spoken, “is the Magician. It signifies understanding your intentions and taking action. This one, the Six of Cups, is the innocence card, which indicates contentment of childhood or indulging in play.”

  “She’s got you pegged,” I remarked.

  “And, finally, the Knight of Wands,” the priestess said. She tapped the final card before her. “That’s an emotional card. It stands for one who is charming and capable…or it can mean that the bearer is daring and foolhardy.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll take charming and capable,” Nick said.

  “What a surprise,” I said.

  The priestess looked at him, her face impassive, and didn’t say anything.

  “So?” Nick said.

  She spread her hands apart, palms facing up. “That is all,” she said.

  “But you didn’t tell me anything,” Nick protested. “All you said was what the cards stand for. That doesn’t tell me anything about my future. I want to know how I did on my final exams.”

  “The answers are all there. Sometimes it just takes time to see what they mean,” the priestess said. She raised a finger of warning. “But that journey is for you alone to take.”

  “Huh. Well, if you put it that way,” Nick said, standing up. “Your turn, Kate.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll pass.”

  “Come on, don’t be a chicken,” Nick said.

  “I’m not afraid…I just don’t believe in fortune-telling,” I said. I looked at the priestess. “No offense.”

  She smiled at me. “I understand your reluctance. The future can be hard to see.”

  “Didn’t Yoda say that?” I asked.

  “‘Difficult to see. Always in motion is the future,’” Nick said in a high, froggy Yoda voice.

  I rolled my eyes at him, but sat down on the folding wooden chair. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The priestess gathered the cards back up, shuffled them, and handed them to me. I cut the deck, and she again went thr
ough the motions of laying the cards out in a diamond, facedown, and then flipped them over one at a time. She studied the cards for a long time, frowning down at them while she bridged her hands together, fingertips pressed together.

  “This is a difficult reading,” she finally said.

  “Why? What does it say?” I asked.

  “The cards contradict one another. This one here, the one at top, is the Hanged Man.”

  “That doesn’t sound like it bodes well for your Crim grade,” Nick said.

  “It signifies a reversal or letting go,” the priestess said, ignoring Nick. “And that contradicts this card, the Four of Pentacles, which indicates maintaining control and blocking any change.”

  “So which one wins?” I asked.

  “Impossible to tell. Perhaps the cards signify different points in your life, or perhaps they foretell a struggle you’ll go through,” the priestess said. “This card here is more troubling—it’s the Nine of Swords, a card of negative energy. It signifies worry, anguish, guilt, or grief. But perhaps that won’t come as a surprise to you.” She looked at me then, her eyes zeroing in on mine.

  I swallowed and said nothing. I was afraid that if I did, I’d start to cry. I shook my head slightly, trying to shrug off the sadness that was pressing at me.

  It’s just nerves, I told myself. Nerves and exhaustion.

  “And, lastly, this card. The Wheel of Fortune,” the priestess said.

  “She’s going to be on a game show?” Nick asked.

  “Nick, shhh,” I said. “What does that mean?”

  “It signifies destiny, or a turning point. Or perhaps that you’ll become more aware,” the priestess said.

  “Aware of what?”

  “Others, yourself, life,” she said.

  I nodded and inhaled deeply, trying to calm the emotions welling up inside me.

  “Thank you,” I said, standing up abruptly.

  The priestess nodded dismissively and turned her attention back to gathering up and shuffling the deck of tarot cards. Nick and I walked aimlessly away. We passed through the arched entrance of Jackson Square and walked up to the statue of General Andrew Jackson in the middle. I perched on the edge of one of the wrought-iron benches facing the statue, gripping the seat on either side of me. Nick sat next to me. He leaned back and stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing one foot over the other.

  “You okay?” Nick asked.

  I nodded. “It just gave me the creeps. I felt like she was…I don’t know, reading my thoughts or something.”

  “She can’t really tell the future,” Nick said softly. “You know that, right?”

  “I guess. It’s just all that she said about conflict and guilt…”

  “Those are emotions that every person has at some point in their life,” Nick pointed out. “Any of the things she said could be applied universally. That’s why it’s just for fun.”

  “I’ve probably just had too much to drink,” I said, and wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s getting chilly.”

  I’d dressed up today, wearing my nicest jeans and a pink cashmere cardigan over a fitted black T-shirt to the Criminal Law final, knowing that we’d be going out afterward. But now I was wishing I’d thought to bring along my jacket, which I’d left behind in my school locker along with my knapsack and books.

  “Here,” Nick said, putting his arm around me and pulling me toward him. “We’ll keep each other warm.”

  The air seemed to thicken. There was suddenly a tension between us—one of expectation and challenge. I sensed that I had only a few seconds to keep everything from permanently changing between us.

  “Nick…,” I said, turning toward him, but before I could finish, he kissed me.

  His lips were soft against mine, and his breath tasted faintly of beer. I hesitated and then kissed him back, and when I felt his tongue flicker against mine, it sent a jolt of heat running through me. I closed my eyes, and the world around us seemed to recede. I could just barely hear the shouts of the drunken Bourbon Street revelers, the strains of zydeco music, the clip-clop of hooves from the horses dragging buggies full of tourists around the Quarter.

  But then Nick’s lips began to press harder—too hard, his teeth felt like they were cutting against my lips—and then his hand slid up from my waist, cupping my breast over my T-shirt.

  “Nick, don’t,” I said, pulling back. I pushed his hand away.

  “Sorry,” Nick murmured. He leaned back toward me, and his hand felt heavy on the back of my neck.

  “No, I can’t,” I said. I stood up and folded my arms in front of me.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Graham?”

  “Yes, Graham. My boyfriend,” I said. The words felt foreign and unwieldy in my mouth. I turned away from him to face the impassive General Jackson, forever frozen in time. An inscription on the statue read,

  THE UNION MUST AND SHALL BE PRESERVED.

  I felt Nick stand and move so that he was standing behind me.

  “Kate…”

  I shook my head. “Let’s just forget this ever happened. We both drank too much, we’ve been under a lot of pressure, things just sort of got away from us. Okay?”

  “No. It’s not okay,” Nick said. He turned me around to face him and held me there, his hands resting heavily on my shoulders. “I want this to happen.”

  “What?” I said, confused.

  “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time. I thought you knew that.”

  “What? No. How would I?” I said, shaking my head. Nick had hooked up with every eligible woman who fell in his path. Christ, that’s what I was now. He was drunk, and I was available. And I’d almost fallen for it.

  I stepped back out of his reach, tripping over something. I looked down and saw a broken strand of cheap plastic Mardi Gras beads lying at the edge of a dirty puddle.

  “Kate,” Nick said.

  An electronic beeping cut off whatever else he was going to say. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. The keypad was glowing blue as it continued to beep insistently. The caller ID announced the caller: Graham.

  I clicked the on button. “Hello?” I said, pressing the phone against my ear.

  “Hey,” Graham said. He sounded like he was trapped in a box, his voice echoing against the sides. “How did it go, babe?”

  It took me a minute to remember what he was talking about: the Crim exam. It seemed like I had taken the test ages ago.

  “Oh…fine. Pretty much what I expected,” I said.

  “Good. Are you and your friends having fun?” Graham asked.

  “Yeah,” I began, and glanced over at Nick. He had folded his arms in front of him, and his blue eyes were hostile, challenging me to…I don’t know what. I turned away from him. A white-faced mime was performing just in front of the cathedral. A crowd circled around him, eager to be entertained, laughing as he began to juggle purses and hats and even sneakers donated from the crowd.

  “Look, I’m going home right now. Can I call you back when I get to my apartment?” I asked.

  “Sure. Where are you?”

  “The Quarter.”

  “Really?” Graham laughed. “You guys are partying, huh?”

  “Just walking around,” I said weakly.

  “Have fun. Call me when you get home.”

  “Okay, bye,” I said, and clicked the off button on the phone. I slid it into my pocket and then turned back to Nick. “I have to go,” I said.

  “Was that him?” Nick asked.

  I nodded. “Look, Nick—”

  “Forget about it. At least now I know,” Nick said. He turned and stalked off, his hands thrust in his pants pockets, his shoulders hunched forward.

  “Wait,” I called after him, raising my voice to a shout. I could hear the tinge of desperation in it and wondered, as Nick paused for a moment, if he’d heard it too. But then he just kept walking away, toward the frenzy of Bourbon Street, until the crowd swallowed him
out of my sight.

  He didn’t look back.

  Spring Semester

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jen! Lexi! Wait up,” I said, sidestepping a crowd of Two-Ls congregating by the first-floor elevator, and skirting past Professor Legrande, who was carefully guarding a steaming paper coffee cup from P.J.’s as he walked to class. It was the first day of classes after the holiday break, and the law school was buzzing with activity—squealed greetings, raucous laughter, the hollow metallic clank of lockers slammed shut.

  I’d just come in from the bright, chilly morning and spotted the backs of two familiar heads—one with a sleek dark bob, the other a tousled auburn—bobbing away down the crowded hallway.

  “Jen! Lexi!” I called out as I wormed past the students gathered around the Public Interest Law Foundation’s breakfast table, where they sold doughnuts, stale bagels, and weak coffee.

  Lexi stopped and turned around. When she spotted me, she grinned and waved. I hurried forward to greet them.

  “Kate!” Jen said. She opened her arms and gave me a big hug. Her long tangle of red hair smelled like roses and cigarette smoke. “When did you get back in town?”

  “Yesterday,” I said.

  “You should have called me. I’d have picked you up,” Jen said.

  “I didn’t know if either of you was around, so I just took a cab,” I said. “And besides, my plane was delayed. There was hail in Arizona.”