The Lesson

by Welch, Virginia

  “What?”

  Gina took a few seconds to put her thoughts into words. “I’ve always been so worried about being safe. Moving into my own apartment after living in Swig Hall surrounded by other girls was a huge adjustment for me. At first I found it really hard to sleep there, alone. And I still don’t like walking home alone at night from the campus or Big Bick’s. But if anyone would have told me beforehand that I would meet a Peeping Tom in the women’s locker room, and all alone too, I would have been certain that I would have fainted dead away. But that didn’t happen. It was like the Holy Spirit came upon me and gave me a special power for the moment. I actually got mad and chased him out. And he fled.”

  “Lucky for him you weren’t armed.”

  “True.” Gina laughed. “But there’s one more thing I learned.”

  “What’s that?” Kevin merged onto Highway 280 toward the Port of San Francisco.

  “I learned that I’m never really alone.”

  #

  They were fortunate to find a parking space only a few blocks from Alioto’s along the Embarcadero. As they entered the famous old restaurant, a Wharf fixture that had been serving Sicilian-style seafood dinners since 1925, Gina ran her hands along the wall made of thousands of seashells that greeted them at the entrance to the dining room. She marveled to think of all the diners whose meals had contributed to the odd piece of artwork. But that was one more thing that made San Francisco unique.

  Kevin asked for a table by the window, and because they had arrived early, they were able to get one directly overlooking dozens of fishing and sail boats gently bobbing in slips along the dock. The sun hung low on the horizon, glistening like liquid gold on the calm Pacific. The waiter arrived and they ordered an appetizer, a shellfish stew called Cioppino Alioto. Kevin ordered abalone for a main entrée; Gina ordered spaghettini con vongole, spaghetti with clams. After the waiter left with their menus and dinner order, Kevin looked across the table at Gina.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Gina.” He wasn’t grinning in his usual playful way. His eyes were intent.

  “You look pretty sharp yourself.” She turned to look out the window. She felt uncomfortable under his adoring stare. For once she actually wished he would crack one of his corny jokes. It would have been easier than being worshipped with his eyes. Finally he spoke.

  “You’ve never told me what happened with you and Michael. The guy must have been crazy to let you go.”

  She weighed the risk of telling her story. Michael was a subject she had avoided with Kevin, not because he was not sympathetic or caring—he had proved himself to be a sensitive and thoughtful listener on many subjects they’d discussed over the last few months, just as a true friend should be. But to discuss Michael with Kevin only emphasized the gulf that lay between the two, a gulf so great in every area that it seemed like bragging to talk about Michael: his education at Santa Clara University School of Law and in Italy, his new job in the family’s Berkeley law firm, his family connections and money, his fancy car. She didn’t care to draw attention to all these things and make Kevin feel in any way inferior. Kevin may not have come wrapped in the trappings of a guy on the move like Michael, but he wasn’t inferior, she had learned, just different. If he had not made his intentions toward her so obvious, she would have felt freer to speak about Michael. But after the brouhaha with Burk, she knew that Kevin had a weak point. She chose her words carefully.

  “Michael wasn’t crazy. He was hurt.”

  The waiter brought their stew to the table. Kevin asked a blessing, but they just sat in front of their meal without eating. Gina could see that Kevin was determined to hear her story. He sat quietly, silverware undisturbed, and waited for her to continue.

  “I told you when we first met that I changed a lot my sophomore year. I never told you why. You know I was raised Catholic. Very Catholic. Saturday morning catechism. Stations of the cross. The sacraments. First Holy Communion. I even taught catechism classes to fifth graders for a short while at St. Justin’s when I was in high school. I used to fall asleep with a rosary in my hands, usually in the middle of my nightly prayers.

  “Then I graduated from Buchser and started at Santa Clara University. When I met Michael during freshman orientation week, well, it was like I died and went to Heaven. We met at an orientation dance. But he wasn’t a freshman. He was a third-year law student. A lot of upperclassmen slip in to check out the new crop of freshmen girls.”

  “I told you to keep your eye on those university guys. Slippery as snakes.” Kevin's eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “Water creatures can be more dangerous than those that live on land. My mother says eels are more slippery than snakes.”

  “And considered a great delicacy by sophisticated cultures around the globe.”

  They laughed at their mutual puns, and then Gina continued.

  “I liked everything about him, and he felt the same way about me. We fell in love the night we met. He and his family were Catholic too. That was important to my parents.

  “I brought him home and my parents adored him. Especially my mother. He was so witty. He would sit and chat with my dad over a glass of wine. Michael would tell them funny stories about his studies in Florence.” It had been on the tip of her tongue to mention how beautifully Michael dressed, but she discreetly stopped the words before they had a chance to jump out. “I don’t know if they liked him the most or if they liked the fact that he was in his last year of law school and would soon have a good job—maybe it was both. He is really personable. Everybody likes Michael. I loved him … he was my hero.”

  Kevin was all ears. She had never seen him so serious. No jokes. She felt it was safe to continue.

  “I got to meet his family and it seemed they liked me too. We dated all through my freshman year. We were inseparable. Then by the time I was a sophomore he had graduated from law school. He passed the bar on his first try, and then of course, as we all knew would happen, his grandfather hired him in his law firm in Berkeley. Everyone also knew by then that it was only a matter of time before we announced our engagement. That finally happened during spring break, last year. My mother put together an engagement party fairly quickly, and Michael gave me the most beautiful ring. He was feeling pretty optimistic about his career, I suppose. The diamond was enormous.

  “Then only days after he slipped the ring on my finger, I was walking past a coffeehouse near the campus. It was early evening and I thought I’d go in and have some coffee and listen to Christian gospel music. I was completely out of food. Free coffee appealed to me. I knew it was a gospel place, but I had no problem with that. I was raised Catholic. The gospels are central to our doctrine. I was raised listening to the gospels as part of the Sunday mass.

  “I listened to this singing group for a while as I sipped coffee. Then a speaker got up and talked about having a closer relationship to God, to Jesus Christ, and I remember thinking, ‘I want that.’ I’d been a practicing Catholic my entire life, but I knew at that moment that I wanted more. I wanted something more intimate. A relationship with God that was deeper and more meaningful than what I had. What’s more, I got the feeling that these people had something I didn’t have."

  Kevin sat with one hand on his chin, very still, listening to every word.

  "So when a young woman there asked me if I wanted to pray to have this closer relationship with God, I said yes. So then we prayed, and I asked Jesus Christ to come into my heart. And after I prayed, I was so aware of God’s presence. Kevin, it was so real and so overwhelming. I know now what the gospels mean when they talk about the pearl of great price. You’d give up everything in this world to know this sense of his nearness. It’s that good.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Kevin.

  “Naturally I couldn’t wait to tell Michael about what had happened to me. But when I did, I was so unprepared for his response.” Gina closed her eyes at the memory, steadying herself.

  “What happened?”

  “He
was angry. He didn’t want me to have anything to do with this new experience. He thought I’d joined a cult. I realize now that his anger stemmed from hurt. He felt like he had lost something. He didn’t want the new me. He wanted the old me. My parents felt the same way.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “Hard is an understatement. The most traumatic event of my life would be more like it.

  “But it got worse, because then I decided that I wanted to get baptized. After what I’d just been through, my sprinkling as a baby didn’t seem so meaningful anymore. I wanted to do something public, to tell the world that I had met Jesus Christ in a personal way. I still feel a great debt to the Catholic Church though, because I believe that God used it, and all those wonderful nuns and priests and lay volunteers to prepare me for this very experience. I love those people.

  “But all those warm and fuzzy feelings didn’t help when I decided to get baptized. All Hell broke loose.” Gina rolled her eyes, remembering. “Michael made it very plain. If I got baptized the engagement was off. I thought about it for several days, and I decided that, as much as I loved Michael, my relationship to God was more important. I got baptized and, true to his word, Michael took back the ring.” Gina unconsciously glanced down at her left hand. “I haven’t spoken to him since."

  Kevin gently reached across the table and put his hand over hers. His touch felt good, and this time, it seemed right. She did not pull away.

  “The firestorm after my baptism was bad enough, but when Michael broke off the engagement, my parents went ballistic, especially my mother. But how do you explain spiritual things, invisible things, like this to your parents? To anybody? I tried but it only made things worse. I don’t visit with them too much now because we always seem to end up in a shouting match about my love life or lack thereof. They’re still mourning Michael.”

  “So that’s why you don’t run to them when your car breaks down or you’re out of groceries?”

  “That’s right.”

  Just then the waiter delivered their entrées to the table. The luscious smell of clams in white wine and butter sauce was intoxicating. Gina just hoped she could keep from slopping any onto her white halter top.

  As they ate the sun slipped down into the Pacific, leaving a burst of pink on the western sky that shimmered in symmetry on the water. The candle that burned in the center of their table seemed more alive now than when they had first arrived.

  “I have to confess, though,” and she blushed as she spoke, “My poor parents had good reason to think they were losing their daughter. I went a little crazy.”

  “In what way?”

  “I turned into an ascetic, though for the life of me I can’t figure out why I thought God expected that of me. I threw out all my fancy clothes. Well, almost all of them.” She glanced down at her satin halter and short, flouncy skirt.

  “I’m glad you didn’t throw out that outfit,” said Kevin.

  Gina smiled. “I threw out all my perfumes and expensive soaps and even gave away an expensive cloisonné compact my Uncle Charlie and Aunt Shirley gave me for my eighteenth birthday. No wonder my parents thought I’d lost my mind. I don’t blame them for worrying about me. But I’ve settled down a bit since then. I hope I’m more balanced. I try. Things are still strained with my parents but at least we’re talking to each other. In between the shouting, I mean.”

  “So what about now? What do you see for your future?”

  “My future? I see law school in my future. And … I’m praying that God brings me someone just as special as Michael to replace him. I get lonely a lot.”

  “So is Michael the reason you want to go to law school?”

  Gina took a deep breath. “No. I don’t think that’s true.”

  “You don’t sound very convincing.”

  Gina looked up from her spaghetti and their eyes met. “Why not?”

  “You hate your philosophy class and all the debate it involves. And you don’t like to play chess. You told me once that you don’t like games of strategy because they seem like work instead of play. Court cases are all about strategy, outwitting the defense or the prosecution, whichever side you’re on. If chess tires you out, you’ll hate the work involved in preparing to win a court case. And there’d be a lot more at stake than just losing your queen.”

  Gina was dumbfounded. She had never thought of winning a court case as a game of strategy. Kevin must have seen the shocked look on her face because his interrogation got bolder.

  “Forget about law school for the moment. What is it that you really love to do?”

  “Oh that’s easy. I love to cook and I love to write. But I don’t want to be a chef. They work nights and weekends. And most writers never make enough money to call it a living. Do I look like Mark Twain?”

  “I can think of a few people who are happy you don’t.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Gina grimaced. “Lawyers write a lot too, you know. And you never see them down at the welfare office waiting for a handout.”

  “Yes, lawyers write a great deal,” said Kevin, “but you also don’t see anybody flocking to the bookstore to be first in line to read what they write. There should be laws against writing prose that obfuscating. But then again, if lawyers wrote such laws, they would unnecessarily obfuscate those too. For a few it may be passion, but for most lawyers I hardly believe they write because it’s what they love.”

  He had a point. “Now I’ve told you my story. What about you?” said Gina.

  “What do you want to know?” said Kevin.

  “What’s your passion?”

  “My passion? Do you want the first thing that pops into my head or should I stick to talking about careers?” His goofy smile was back.

  “We’re talking careers,” said Gina, shaking her head in exasperation. “What motivates you to join the FBI, beyond sneaking around following people, I mean?”

  “To me a career with the FBI is an extension of my military service. Service to my country. I like the Navy. I hope I like the FBI. I’ve read that agents don’t have cookie-cutter work days. Something new and different to investigate all the time. That appeals to me.”

  They chatted a long while, mostly about things they wanted to do in life and countries they would like to visit. Their conversation was as natural as the sun coming up in the morning. Gina forgot about the discomfort of his mad pursuit of her and was having a good time. After a while the waiter returned to their table and cleared their plates. The sun had disappeared completely into the Pacific now, and the stars were twinkling prettily outside Alioto’s windows in the still blackness, a silent floor show of lights no human director could ever pull off. Gina tried to memorize the beauty outside the window to enjoy it later.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so exquisite in all my life,” she said as she gazed at the boat lights twinkling on the water.

  Kevin reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  When she felt his hand on hers she turned from the window toward him. He was staring intently at her, those same adoring eyes that had made her squirm with discomfort many times in the last few months. He wasn’t keeping his end of their agreement. This time she drew back her hand.

  “You said you just wanted pretty company for dinner. We’ll leave it at that.”

  Neither of them had room for dessert, so Kevin took his leftover abalone in a doggy bag, and after he had paid the bill they left the restaurant. In the car Gina took the abalone and set it in the glove compartment next to her thread and needle. An hour later Kevin’s beetle pulled up in front of Gina’s apartment. It was only nine fifteen.

  “I think I have room for a scoop of ice cream now,” said Gina. “Want to come in a while? I’ve got rocky road.”

  “I never turn down ice cream.”

  Once inside her apartment Gina hung up her wrap and then went to the kitchen to scoop ice cream into custard cups. Kevi
n settled himself on the couch in the living room in front of the TV.

  “You don’t have many stations to choose from,” he said, getting up to turn the knob on the set.

  “No. But it doesn’t matter much on Saturday nights anymore. Since ‘All in the Family’ moved to Monday nights there’s nothing left that I want to watch,” she said from the kitchen. “I always watch ‘The Waltons’ on Thursdays, but that’s about it. I’m too busy with homework in the evenings anyway. And if I don’t have homework, there’s always a good book.”

  “Ah, books. They’re your best friends when you’re out at sea for weeks at a time,” said Kevin. He gave up trying to find something to watch on television and walked into the kitchen. Three bouquets of wilted brown roses sat in a large vase on the center of the kitchen table.

  “Who gave you the flowers?” said Kevin.

  “What makes you think someone gave them to me? I could have bought them at the grocery store.”

  She was bluffing, of course. It still irked her that the giver had not left a card or called. And the more time that passed without acknowledgment from Michael, the more she had to accept that likely he was not the one who had delivered them. She would never call him to inquire, because if he hadn’t left them, she would play the fool. After all, he had been the one to break things off. But she could hope, and because she still wasn’t certain who had left them, she might as well get some mileage out of them.

  “You never spend money on yourself,” said Kevin, “especially not on something as frilly as flowers. And if you did, you’d buy one bouquet, not three.”

  In the back of her mind it struck Gina in a flash of insight as quick and bright as a lightning bolt that Kevin was giving the flowers undue attention. They were just a bunch of crumbling petals. Why should he care? There could be only one reason.

  “And if someone had given them to me, what kind of guy would he be to buy three bouquets when one would have done the job just fine? A guilty lover? An insecure suitor trying to impress? Or,” and she drew this out a bit, “someone who was throwing himself at a girl, perhaps?”