by Molly Ringle
But that was ungenerous of me. Amber would not break down in tears in the middle of a city sidewalk for a mere chance at bedding someone who wasn’t even there at the moment. She had better tricks up her sleeves. Whether or not she was hallucinating--and for once I hoped she was--she wasn’t doing it on purpose.
“Kind of scary, huh?” said Tony.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen anything scare her that much.”
“Doesn’t exactly make me want to get on a plane tomorrow.” Tony laughed uncertainly.
“Hey, don’t worry. It wasn’t your name she saw.”
* * *
The next morning Amber and Laurence came down about ten minutes apart to say goodbye to Tony. He had to leave at 7:00 a.m. to catch a cab to the airport.
If Amber experienced any afterglow from having spent the night in Laurence’s room, she didn’t show it. She still looked unsettled, dark shadows lurking under her eyes.
Laurence sniffled with the remainder of his cold, but otherwise looked the same as ever. He, of course, would probably not tell me if anything romantic took place. Amber would normally, but under the somber circumstances she might not. I wondered if Miss Manners had any suggestions on how you should ask a friend shadowed by the Angel of Death whether she got any action last night.
Laurence and Tony shook hands in farewell. Then Amber stepped up and hugged Tony, which was surely a first. He took it gracefully, giving her a solid hug in return.
“I know you’re not into this,” I heard him say, “but I’m going to pray for you, whether you like it or not.”
She smiled. “I can handle that. Thanks, Tony.”
I followed him out to the curb, where he flagged a taxi. He gave me several long kisses, then spent a moment stroking my ear and gazing at me. “It’s dangerous to leave you here; you’re so pretty.”
The guilt stole up and bit me. I tried not to twitch.
The cab was waiting, so we said our farewells and he got in.
“Tell Shannon Merry Christmas for me!” He shut the door.
I watched the cab drive away, and turned back to the hostel with mingled sorrow and relief. My daily life now featured one less complicating factor, anyway.
Replaced by so many others.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Weary Four
“What did you do to her last night?” Laurence asked me, as I scrambled eggs in the kitchen before work.
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Ha ha.” He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. “She did try to make out with me a few times. But she was obviously freaked out, so it couldn’t mean much.”
I glanced at him in surprise. He had never told me details like this before. Then distaste slid in, and I returned my focus to the eggs. Amber was beguiling him with common vulnerable-victim ploys that shouldn’t have worked on someone as smart as Laurence. “Did you let her?” I asked.
“A little. To calm her down.”
“Then what?” I flipped my eggs onto a plate.
“I spent the entire night telling her she wasn’t going to die, until at about five a.m. she finally fell asleep. Thanks so much for leaving her on my doorstep.”
“Your doorstep is where she wanted to be. We told her the same stuff, but maybe she’ll listen to you.” I reached past him for the salt and pepper.
“She needs to sleep more. And drink less. And see a psychiatrist. I mean, that date, come on. It’s my birthday.”
I paused. “February nineteenth. That’s right. I knew it sounded familiar.”
“Like I told her, it’s just her subconscious, or the spirits, reminding her to shop for me.”
“It makes sense. She’s obsessed with you. I’m probably not supposed to tell you, but I figured you noticed.”
“Everyone’s noticed.” He lowered his eyes. I couldn’t tell if this was modesty or dissatisfaction.
“Did she know it was your birthday?”
“Yep. Didn’t help. She said, ‘That just makes it more likely. We’ll go out to dinner, and we’ll get in a taxi crash. Or I’ll get food poisoning like Eva did, only it’ll be fatal.’” Laurence took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I told her, ‘Then don’t throw me a party. We won’t do anything special. We’ll fast; we’ll stay home.’ She’s all, ‘If we stay here, there’ll be a fire. Or if nothing else, it’ll be the day I completely lose my mind.’ She thinks it’s destiny now.”
Amber corroborated this story when I next talked to her, which was that afternoon up in Room 17.
“I knew it was his birthday as soon as I saw it,” she said. “And I thought, dying or going insane on Laurence’s birthday--yes, that sounds likely enough, the way I feel about him.” She moaned and put her head on her knees. “Now all I want is him. And I want to go home and see Mom, but I couldn’t go unless he went with me.”
“You know, I was thinking about this,” I said. “You only saw one date, right? Not your date of birth.”
“Just February nineteenth.”
“So if you ask me, that isn’t a death thing at all. It’s just a date. If you’d seen ‘Amber Willock, 1989 to 2008,’ now that would look bad, but this? Who knows? Maybe it’s the date he’ll ask you to marry him or something.” I hated saying something so stupid and unlikely, but it might make her smile.
“He would never ask me that.” She rested her cheek on her knee and looked sideways at the window. “Too bad. He’s probably the only person I’d say yes to.”
Marriage? Had she totally gone cracked? I scowled, pulling at a thread on my sweater cuff. “When did this all start, anyhow? You liking Laurence.”
“A little before we left home.” She gave a wry chuckle. “He paid for my plane ticket.”
“Ah.” Well, that answered that.
“Said it was a graduation present, and I wasn’t supposed to give it another thought. Even though all I got him was a framed photo of us in fourth grade.”
I had gotten my friends fancy chocolate from the grocery store. Not quite equal to a seat on British Airways.
“But there’s gratitude and then there’s this,” she said.
“And ‘this’ would be?” I’d make her spell it out, damn it.
She shrugged. “Wanting to be with him. Feeling incomplete if I’m not. Coming to realize he’s probably the best person I know.” She glanced at me, mild apology softening her eyes. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course.” My lack of enthusiasm deadened my answer.
She sighed. “I know you think I’m crazy. It’s okay.”
“Nah, it’s only that he’s a dork. We’ve established this. You can do better.” But I no longer meant that, and anyway, now my mind was once again hammering away at my own romance problems.
Though Tony had only left this morning, and I still missed him, I was finding it hard to think of him as my boyfriend. We had kissed, and snuggled under coats to keep warm, but as I’d learned, anyone could do that. We hadn’t done anything remotely steamy beyond my one failed attempt, and the worst part was that I hadn’t wanted to. I’d been relieved not to have the opportunity. I was not at all sure that he completed my life.
A girl wasn’t supposed to feel like that about her boyfriend. Would I soon be telling Tony the dreaded words, “I only like you as a friend”? Cold sweat broke out under my arms every time I thought of it.
And Gil--I still hadn’t caught that slippery fish. We hadn’t communicated for four days. Pride kept me from texting him until today, and guess what he answered:
I’m working the pub tonight, but it’s me last night! I go back to the studio on Monday.
Ever since meeting Shelly, I’d been brooding about Gil. Now that I knew he would be reunited with her on a daily and close working basis, I burned at fever pitch. Someone else wanted him, which made him a valued commodity, which meant I couldn’t let him go without a fight. I forgave his return to the recording studio as a career move, but he had to admit my superior appeal as a woman.<
br />
As soon as it got dark, I collected all my beauty products and took them into the bathroom. A hot shower with tangerine-scented bath gel left me smelling good, and conditioner tamed most of the static in my hair. Between the products and the improved diet, I now had a few waves rather than frizz.
I pulled on gray tights, a black wool skirt, a red silk blouse, and new black flats with ribbon laces, bought on a shopping trip last week. I applied lipstick and even mascara, which I normally didn’t wear.
I bumped into Shannon on my way out of Room 17. My quilted coat covered my outfit, but she could still see the makeup and the freshly styled hair. She looked surprised. “Going out?”
“Yeah. Just, uh, to hang with Gil.” Feeling like a tart, I switched topics. “Hey, have you heard about Amber’s vision thing last night?”
She nodded. “I talked to Laurence. Scary.”
“She still won’t see a shrink. She’s afraid of confirming the craziness or something--like that’s so much worse than being destined to die.” I shook my head. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. She’s just been impressionable ever since talking to her dad. Then being around Tony encouraged her somehow. By the way, he says Merry Christmas.”
“I wish I’d been here to say goodbye to him. I feel sorry for you guys, so far apart.” She leaned on the doorframe, her gaze sweeping down to the carpet.
“Nah, we’re okay,” I said, though I guessed instantly why she said this. “Hey, how’s Thomas?” I asked, referring to that reason and changing the subject in one handy move.
“Not bad. But...” She extracted a pound coin from her coat pocket and rolled it on edge between her thumb and finger. “He’s only got another couple days here. He’s going back home for the holidays and staying there for good.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“He’s transferring to another university in the south of England, in Canterbury. It was all arranged before he met me.”
“Wait, you knew about this?”
She nodded, still gazing at the coin traveling around her palm.
“Dude, you never said anything,” I scolded.
Her eyes registered guilt as she glanced at me. “Didn’t want you to worry. I’ll be okay.”
“How far away is it?”
“About 500 miles.”
“Jeez. I didn’t think the island was that big.”
“Me neither,” she said glumly.
“You guys will visit each other, right?”
“Yeah. When we can.”
I itched to ask, ‘Didn’t he invite you to come with him?’ But if he hadn’t, I didn’t want to rub salt in her wounds.
“That’s something,” I said. “Still, it sucks. Listen, you can come out with me tonight if you want; it’s just, you know how Gil’s pub is. Loud and annoying and all.”
“That’s okay. I’m going back to Thomas’. I only came to get some stuff.”
“I’ll see you later, then. Take it easy, hey?” I nudged her sideways, and headed out.
Chapter Thirty: When Feminine Wiles Fail
Poor Shannon. At least Gil wasn’t going anywhere. As I walked, and my heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him, I decided I was prepared to say, “I’ve seen my boyfriend again, and things feel different. I might be willing to give him up. Do you want to be my boyfriend for the next three months?”
And if he said yes, what would happen after three months? Hell if I knew. Jump off that railroad bridge when we come to it.
It was Saturday night, and the pub throbbed with customers and electronic music. I squirmed through the crowd to the bar, and stood on tiptoe to wave over someone’s head at Gil.
“Oi, tourist!” He beckoned me around to a vacant corner. “You’ve come up to witness me last night, then?”
“Yep. Tony went home this morning, so I’m all yours.”
“Ooh, is that so? Me break comes up in an hour. Cheeky dram for you in the meantime?”
I sipped a weak rum-and-Coke at the bar, and fended off would-be suitors (with Gil’s help) until his break. Then he led me through the kitchen and out to the alley. The quiet space and fresh air, though freezing, was a relief after the loud, sweaty pub.
“Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he purred, an inch from my mouth.
I took hold of his shirt--white with yellow zigzags, but cotton at least--and pulled him up against me. Just as we began kissing, a blast of light and sound poured out from behind us. Someone had opened the door.
“Gil,” said Dave. “Er, sorry. That woman’s here to see you. The one from the studio.”
“Christ. Shelly?” said Gil.
“Aye, the latter.”
“Right. I better talk to her. She’s my employer now.” He winked at me and darted back inside.
Left with little choice, I followed him, feeling cheaper than ever. Tony hadn’t even reached home soil yet, and already the pub’s proprietor had caught me kissing the bartender, who in turn was more excited to see another woman.
“Gilleon!” said her brassy voice.
“Shelly!” He leaned across the bar on his elbows, grinning at her.
“We heard you were quitting, so we thought we’d come harass you. ‘Harass’--hah! Great choice of words!” She opened her mouth wide in laughter. The two women and three men with her, presumably Gil’s former coworkers, joined in.
I approached slowly, studying her closer than I had been able to before. She had more bosom than I could ever hope for, but she wasn’t fat, just voluptuous. Her makeup was perfect and her eyebrows were plucked to slick little arches. She wore a shiny butt-hugging leather skirt and a vinyl jacket that was green from some angles and blue from others.
I suddenly felt like a frumpy high-school girl in my wool skirt and inept mascara. I withdrew to the corner of the bar and played with the wet coaster under an empty glass.
Gil introduced us. “This is my friend Eva, visiting from the States.”
Shelly leaned over and shook my hand with a big smile. “Halloo! Saw you here last week, right?”
“Yep.”
“Good to see you again.” She beamed, but returned her attention immediately to Gil. She didn’t ask where in the States I was from, or what I was doing here, or anything at all. I clearly did not matter to her.
And I didn’t matter much to Gil either, I concluded soon. He chatted with her and his other studio friends for the remainder of his break, then slid right back into work, still talking to them whenever he caught a chance. Oh, he talked to me too, but now his cheerfulness seemed only to be the product of Shelly’s presence.
So, two hours after I’d arrived, I called to him over the noise, “I have to work tomorrow. I’m going to head back.”
He looked sympathetic but not disappointed. “Ah, if you must. I’ll call on Monday from the studio, if I get a chance.”
If he got a chance. Lovely.
“Goodnight.” I took my coat from the wall peg.
He nodded to me, smiling. Didn’t even seem regretful that I was leaving without a kiss. Had no idea I had planned to discuss being his honest-to-God girlfriend tonight. Didn’t grasp how utterly he had trampled my alternatives-to-Tony plan.
Feeling sorry for myself, I tried to conjure up some tears on the walk home. The situation seemed to call for it, and I thought I would feel better. But I could only muster up frustrated pinpricks of salt water. No real, heartfelt teardrops.
Laurence encountered me in the stairwell as I stomped up. “Wow, the angst, it emanates,” he remarked.
I stopped. “You know what that Shelly Davis reminds me of? Betty Boop, with the voice of Yosemite Sam. Only Scottish.”
He grinned. “Well, I haven’t heard her say ‘varmint’ yet, but give her time.” He came down a few steps to me. “You saw her again?”
“She barged into the pub tonight and completely took over Gil’s attention.” I slumped against the railing, hands in my coat pockets. “I’m such an idiot. Show up the very night my boyfriend le
aves, looking like a harlot, and acting like one. You should’ve heard me. ‘He’s gone; I’m all yours’. Kissing him in the alley like some--” I stopped, and shook my head. “Anyway, Shelly showed up and he pretty much forgot I existed. It’s exactly what everyone could have predicted. I don’t even know why I tried. Gloat if you want. I’m going to sleep.” I trudged up past him.
“I’m not going to gloat.”
I kept climbing.
“Eva. Turn around.”
I stopped, and turned.
“Open the coat.”
I obeyed, bracing myself for a fashion critique.
He studied me up and down. “Put stiletto heels on the shoes, make the skirt a few inches shorter, and undo one more shirt button. Then you would look cheap. But you don’t, as it stands.”
A smile pulled at my mouth. Compared to what he could have said, it was generous. “Thanks, Laurence.”
“Anytime.”
I waved at him and pushed through the door. A girl could indeed see why Amber adored him.
Chapter Thirty-One: Sympathy for Shannon
Gil called me at work Monday morning, but our conversation was brief. Voices and thumping music behind him made him shout into the phone. He said he was having good fun, and told me he’d call later. I agreed without any joy, certain he would put off that call for days.
I returned to the hostel after work and spent Monday evening the same way I had spent Sunday: listening to the rain pour against the windows, playing Uno and cribbage with Amber to take her mind off death and/or insanity, and eating Nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon.
Meanwhile, Mom emailed me another stress-inducing bundle of words.
Hey sweetie,
Time to let us know your other college choices, if any, and get those applications in. I already had Shirley Wei and Donna Breckridge send their recommendation letters to OSU and UO for you, so be sure to send them thank-you notes. Where else? Marylhurst? Did you get the package and finish the applications for those first two?