Bad Idea

by Nicole French

  “These are my favorites,” he informs me, guiding me toward the first in a large series of woven works.

  “Oh!” I cry in delight and surprise. “Hey, I know these! These are the Unicorn Tapestries. We read about these in my art history class last year.”

  Nico stands behind me and rests his hands on my hips as we examine the first tapestry in the series, The Start of the Hunt. Like the others in the room, the tapestry is massive, some twelve by fourteen feet, according to the placard next to it.

  “Amazing, isn’t it, sweetie?” His deep voice rumbles with pleasure, and I have to fight myself not to turn around to look at him instead of the art. “Look at all the detail. Can you imagine how long it took to do this by hand?”

  It’s as detailed and intricate as any painting. The tapestry portrays eleven men and their hunting paraphernalia, all with a somewhat confused intent to kill the mythical creature that’s spearing one of the dogs in the side with its horn. The creature doesn’t want to be trapped or chased—that’s obvious, and the irritation on its face is just as clear as the befuddlement on those of its captors, maybe from the fact that they had even located a mythical creature to begin with. The desire to kill it—the most rare and valuable animal in the world—for nothing but sport is obviously the paradox of the story.

  Nico keeps hold of my hand as he escorts me to the next few tapestries in the series, which cover the progress of the hunt, the unicorn becoming more and more trapped as the hunters got their act together. The fifth tapestry, of which only a few torn fragments are present, consists of a woman who appears to be taming the unicorn to the point where it’s oblivious to a dog biting its flank, thus allowing for its capture and death, portrayed in the sixth, bloodiest tapestry. We study them as Nico pulls me in front of him and wraps his arms around my waist. We’re quiet, almost as if paying respect to the fallen beast.

  “The myth is that a unicorn can only be tamed by a virginal maiden,” Nico says as he leans his chin on my shoulder. “What do you think, sweetie? Could you tame a unicorn?”

  “Well, first I’d have to be a virgin, wouldn’t I?” I respond somewhat wryly. “Unfortunately, that ship has sailed.”

  “You’re still a lovely, virtuous maiden,” Nico says as he sets a soft kiss on my neck. “You could probably tame a wild beast if you met him.”

  Again, I have to resist the urge to twist around in his arms. I really wish I could see the look on his face as he says that, but I’m scared what he might see on mine.

  “Is that a challenge, Mr. Soltero?” I’m joking, but inwardly I’m begging for it to be true.

  He growls in return, a deep, pleasant vibration against my neck. “You’re welcome to try. Come on, milady. Let me show you the garden before they close.”

  On our way out, I glance at the seventh and final tapestry: The Unicorn in Captivity. The unicorn, apparently back from the dead, sits happily tethered to a tree, completely encircled by a fence. It looks happy to be there, as if all it had wanted all along was to belong to someone. Still, the pitiful size of the fence makes its happiness pathetic, and I wonder briefly if that was what Nico thought of when he joked about being tamed by a virtuous maiden. I hope not.

  ~

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Nico

  I really need to tell her. But when she looks at me like that, like she really wants to tame the beast within, the beast she doesn’t really even know yet, I don’t want to say that this whole thing needs to stay casual, that I can’t get into anything serious right now. I want to throw myself onto my knees and tell her she’s basically already tamed me. That I’m hers. If she wants me.

  Fuck me. What am I supposed to do when she looks at me like that?

  We walk out into the deserted courtyard that looks out onto the Hudson River. The temperature is dropping, and I have an arm around her waist as we stride around the grounds. It’s not easy since we’re both wearing these giant parkas, but I make it work.

  “Usually this is a really nice garden,” I tell her. “They do all this landscaping to make it true to the way things looked back in the medieval times. Same flowers, same patterns.”

  I don’t know why I feel like I have to be a tour guide. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anything else to give her but my city. I know everything about New York, but I don’t have the money to show her all the fancy things about it. All I can offer is what I know. The deals, like attending the Met on donation only or the cheap Pakistani food you can get in the garage off Houston. The secret spots in Central Park that the tourists never find. This city is the only thing I can give her, but this city is all I want to escape.

  “Do you like to garden?” she asks. “Since you spent all that time in the country?”

  The country. Shit. I’m already regretting telling her that white lie. Yeah, I was out in the country for a few years as a teenager, but it wasn’t on some homestay holiday. I shake my head, wanting to put that piece of bullshit behind me. She doesn’t need to know.

  So instead I play it off like a joke. “In New York? Oh, yeah, I got a farm on my fire escape. They call me Old MacDonald, NYU. E-I-E-I-O!”

  She giggles with me while I sing out, loud and clear, about cows and horses and whatever other barnyard animals I can think of. God, I could listen to her do that forever. It makes me forget about the obvious differences between us, about the nasty fact that we come from completely different worlds.

  “You know, I have an idea for you,” she says once I’m done.

  Our breaths come out like ghosts while we walk. The temperature is starting to drop again, and the sun is falling down to the bluffs across the river. It’s still pretty early, but the sight of it puts me in a bad mood. It means I’m going to have to say goodbye to her soon and go back to my real life. Another night checking IDs and collecting money. You get an extra shift, you take it. Work, work, work.

  “What’s that, baby?” I ask, not wanting to spoil the moment.

  “Well,” she says slowly. “I was thinking about what you said last night. About wanting to be a firefighter and all that.”

  “Yeah?” I’m a little suspicious, but curious too. I’ve been burned too many times by the FDNY. All I ever wanted was to be one of those dudes on the trucks, but for whatever reason, I’ve never been good enough for them.

  “Well, have you ever actually asked the people who choose the new entries why they make the choices they do? Like, have you ever asked them what they’re looking for in an applicant?”

  I don’t really know what to say. “No, not really,” I admit. “They have the application, so I put my information on it and sent it in. They keep saying no. What else can I do?”

  Layla steps lightly, like she’s trying to see if she can walk without leaving footprints on the hard-packed snow. I grip her tighter around the waist and watch her progress. She fails every time, but she doesn’t stop trying.

  “Well,” she starts again, “when I first applied last year for jobs in the city, I didn’t get a single call back on my resume. My dad is really good at getting the jobs he wants in a country that doesn’t really like accents.” She pauses, measuring her words. “He told me that if you want to break into a new industry, you have to figure out what they want that’s not in the application. He suggested I call some places I thought I might like to work for and ask for information only. Ask them what they like in an applicant and tell them I’m thinking about applying, but I want to build my skill set before I apply.”

  She takes a deep breath and peeks at me, like she’s worried about what I’ll think. She seems thoughtful, if somewhat placid, before continuing.

  “So I did. And I found out that even though the internship positions said no experience was needed, they were still interested in people who knew things like how to proofread a paper or how to use data entry software. They liked someone who had proven interest in the job, even if they didn’t have working experience. So last summer I volunteered for the legal department at my dad’s practice
. It was ridiculously boring, but I learned a lot of that kind of stuff. When I was interviewed for the position at Fox and Lager, they actually said it was that experience––the fact that I had done it of my own volition––that got me the position over older, more experienced candidates.”

  “Well, that, and you’re super hot,” I joke.

  She tries to smack my shoulder, but I catch her arm and pull her close so I can press my nose in her neck. She smells even better than I remember. And suddenly I really want to stop talking about this. Jobs. Family. Our pasts. This day got really heavy, really fast.

  We stop by one of the pillars that holds up the giant stones of the building, and I turn her to me. She rests her cheek on my chest.

  “Maybe you should try again,” she says softly, toying with the zipper of my jacket. “You could find out what they want and do that first. It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  I want to ask why she cares so much. Why does it matter if I’m a FedEx guy or a doorman or a firefighter? They’re all blue-collar jobs, the kind of jobs that no one who ends up with this girl will ever have. Her father’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. She’s going to end up married to someone like him, someone who can buy her more of that gold jewelry she likes to wear, someone who can take care of her. Someone who’s nothing like me. I’m just a pit stop on the way to her future. She knows it, and I know it.

  Except, fuck. What if she doesn’t?

  I can’t help but smile a little.

  Because I can’t not kiss her right now, I tip her head up and press my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft and warm, even in the winter air. But just when she’s opening for something deeper, I stop, tuck a misbehaving curl behind her ear, and trace the rest of her cheek with my finger.

  Things are getting a little too real with her today. But I think I always knew it would be like that with Layla.

  “You’re a smart girl,” I say as I loosen my grasp around her waist.

  “Um, thanks?”

  She looks uncertain. I get it. Our kisses are electric––she’s probably wondering, just like I am, why exactly I pulled away. But it’s nothing I want to talk about right now.

  So instead, I make a big production of stepping away to check my watch. Yeah, it’s time to go anyway.

  “Time’s up, sweetie. I gotta be downtown at AJ’s by ten. You wanna stop by tonight with your friends again? You could stay until closing and we could continue our date…”

  I shouldn’t ask her, but still, I can’t help it. The more time I spend with Layla, the more time I want to spend with her. Tonight, I tell myself. Tonight I can tell her the truth. I’ll tell her why this can’t go on past May, why it’s best maybe to nip it in the bud.

  But she just smiles sadly and shakes her head.

  “I want to, but I really have to get some studying done tonight and tomorrow. I’m kind of behind in my school work right now, and I can’t afford to be hungover tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

  I ignore the way my heart sinks in my chest when she says no. I don’t want to wait until Monday to see her again. But this is probably for the best. Maybe I need some space too to figure out what the fuck I’m doing here.

  “Nah, baby, don’t apologize. School comes first, always.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for once, I’m glad for the interruption. “Hold on,” I say, stepping away for a moment to take the call. “Hey, Lionel. What’s up?”

  Lionel is the manager at AJ’s and a good friend of K.C.’s.

  “Hey man,” he says. “Just want to let you know the show tonight is cancelled. The band is stuck in Boston because of the blizzard up there. Grant can probably handle the door tonight if you want a night off.”

  Is it sad that I’m excited? I shouldn’t be––I can always use the extra money this job brings in each week. But right now, all I can think is that maybe I can talk Layla into studying with me tonight instead of with her friends. Except my sister has taken over the apartment with her kid, and there is no way I’m bringing Layla around Maggie, the viper. She’d call Selena, and then whatever this is will be over before it’s even started. My sisters eat the girls I date for breakfast.

  But, I realize, K.C. is leaving for LA tonight. He’s got an apartment just sitting there across the river, a place I sometimes crash when the city gets a little too much. It’s quieter than Manhattan. A good place to tell Layla exactly what’s going on in my life.

  I hang up and face her with a new bounce in my step.

  “So, NYU,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. She doesn’t like it when I call her that, which for some reason makes me want to do it even more. She’s cute when she’s annoyed. “Looks like the show is cancelled tonight—‘inclement weather’ in Boston.”

  “You don’t have to work tonight after all?”

  I shake my head. “I was wondering,” I say as I reach out to twirl a piece of her hair around one finger. She watches the action like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. “Would you be interested in studying with me tonight? I’ll leave you alone, I promise. Except, you know, when you don’t want me to.”

  I wink. It makes me look like an idiot, but she doesn’t seem to mind my goofy side. In fact, I’d say she likes it.

  “Just a quiet night in?” she asks shyly. “That won’t be boring for you?”

  I shake my head. She really has no idea. I never get quiet nights in. If I’m not working at FedEx until close to nine, I’m at the gym or working odd jobs at clubs around town. Suddenly, I’m ready to beg her to do it. An entire night alone with this girl sounds like a dream come true.

  “It’ll be perfect,” I say honestly. “Especially with you there.”

  She tips her head to one side, considering the idea for a moment even though I can already see on her face she’s going to say yes. She wants more time just as bad as I do

  “Yeah, okay,” she says finally, and I can’t even try to hide my grin. “But only if you give me some time to study, okay?”

  “Sure, sure, baby, I’ll just watch TV or something.” I hook an arm through hers and start walking us back to the train station. The sky is turning a purplish-gray as twilight falls, and I’m suddenly aware that I’ll be spending the night with this girl for the second night in a row. I can’t even remember the last time I spent one night with someone, let alone two. Not since Jessie.

  I shake that memory out of my head. No, I can’t think about that. Right now, I just hope I can keep some kind of self-control if that’s what Layla needs.

  “So listen, sweetie,” I say as we walk down the drive. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to go to New Jersey…”

  ~

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Layla

  It doesn’t take me long to pack up my books and a few things into an overnight bag once we return to the dorm. Shama and Jamie are out, but I find Quinn sitting on her bed reading when I walk into our room with Nico at my heels, his hands eagerly on my hips. She glances at him curiously, then back at me, and smiles like a cat that just ate the canary.

  “Well, hello, there,” she croons, standing up and fluffing her curly ponytail. “You must be FedEx man. I’m Quinn. Roommate. Best friend. You know the drill.”

  I can tell Nico wants to laugh by the way his eyes twinkle, but he doesn’t, just extends a big hand out to shake Quinn’s.

  “Nico,” he says. “Nice to meet you. How you doin’, Quinn?”

  “Not as good as you, I’m guessing,” she says as she sits in her desk chair. “Where are you two kids coming from?”

  I tell her about our afternoon at the Cloisters, which has her looking at Nico with obvious approval. Museums are classy places to take someone on a date, and Quinn’s a total snob. She won’t date a guy who wears sneakers to a bar, and she’ll never accept a movie offer (or something equally standard) until her third date. She says she likes to make sure they’re willing to work for it. There is a reason she doesn’t get a lot of dates. I secretly think these kinds of mind games are the reason she
’s still a virgin at almost twenty—she can’t find anyone willing to jump through these damn hoops for her.

  “So where to now?” she asks, drumming her fingernails on her desktop.

  Nico sits down on my mattress while I rifle through my drawers, searching as unobtrusively as possible for underwear that’s appropriately sexy but won’t be uncomfortable the next morning. Hmmm, maybe I should just bring two sets.

  “New Jersey,” I say, bracing myself for what I know will be her obvious scowl.

  Quinn is from Boston, and the only thing Bostonians look down on more than New Yorkers (specifically Yankees fans) is New Jersey. It’s a constant source of genial conflict in our apartment, considering both Jamie and Shama grew up there. To Quinn, New Jersey is the land of shitty Springsteen cover bands and big-haired bridge-and-tunnel girls. Jamie and Shama just start shouting about Boston and Marky Mark whenever the topic comes up, but Quinn’s opinion never changes. New Jersey isn’t the kind of place you go if you can avoid it.

  “Why? What’s over there?” Her face is thankfully blank when I turn around, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Nico doesn’t need to know just how entitled my roommates can be. At least not yet, anyway.

  “My friend has an apartment in Hoboken,” he says, repeating the same thing he told me on the train. “I’m housesitting for him for a while. It’s a good place to relax and…uh…study.”

  He shoots a devious grin in my direction, and I flush, knowing that Quinn certainly saw that look too. To her credit, she nods approvingly, although the quick flash in her eyes tells me there’s no way she thinks I’m going to do any studying there. Whatever. From out of Nico’s range of sight, I stick my tongue out at her, and she blinks before training her gaze back on Nico.

  “I’m going to use the bathroom before we go, sweetie.” With a peck on my cheek, he leaves me alone with Quinn’s imperious attitude.