Zoe smiled and picked up the phone. “Okay, okay. I’m ordering now because you’re naked and indisposed. But don’t get used to it. When we’re working down on Wall Street and you’re actually dressed, I’m not going to be ordering your pizza.”
She heard Gavin mumble something from behind the shower curtain as she dialed.
“What was that?” She walked towards the bathroom, trailing the phone cord behind her.
“The girl who came up with the best idea ‘round is headed to Wall Street? I thought you wanted advertising.”
“Can’t afford it. Maybe someday, but what I want—what I need—right now is money. My own. I have the infuriating dilemma of wanting to give my stepfather the finger and not wanting to make that statement from a crappy studio apartment,” Zoe said.
She could hear Gavin turn the shower off. “Yeah, I can’t quite picture you brainstorming taglines from a Murphy bed,” he said. “I know a wiser man would say something like, ‘money isn’t everything,’ but I’m not so sure that’s true.”
Zoe knew Gavin had an older brother with Down’s Syndrome, and that Gavin felt like he had to be a star, to be everything his brother couldn’t. He had talked about wanting to be a teacher, to work with kids, but he thought working in finance would mean “success” to his family. Zoe happened to agree. Because Gavin in a sweater vest? She wrinkled her nose like she smelled something bad.
“It’s definitely everything in my house,” Zoe said. The noise of a busy pizza shop crackled in her ear; “Hello? Damn, I’m on hold.”
She picked up a magazine and spread a blanket over the ripped yellow couch before dropping down on it. In anyone else’s room, she would never sit on such a frightening piece of furniture, even with a thick blanket over it. Only for Gavin.
The door opened and a fraternity brother peeked into the disheveled room. “Oh, sorry,” he said when he saw Zoe clad only in a white oxford and underwear.
“He’s in the shower,” she said without looking up. It didn’t really matter who the intruder was; at one time or another over the past year everyone in the fraternity house had walked in on them, on Zoe in some state of undress. She had learned that the less she freaked about it, the smaller the aftershocks.
Gavin and Zoe had now been together, and shocking people, since the third night of her college career, when Gavin followed her into a dark corner (she would later say she had no idea he was behind her) and they kissed, a steamy first kiss that would have gone on forever if not for a brother’s urgent poke and message that Tori was looking for him.
Zoe scowled as Gavin slunk back into the bright lights of the party.
The gauntlet had been thrown down.
Throughout the rest of the fall, Zoe found every opportunity—empty classrooms, quiet library aisles, dark balconies—to press herself against him. She slid her tongue over his earlobe and whispered how she wished they had more time together, and then slinked away, leaving him panting and reaching out for her.
By the Christmas dance however, Zoe was done waiting. Her date was a handsome friend of Gavin’s, who—per Gavin’s suggestion—politely kept his hands to himself all night. She ended up standing in a group of people who she had zero interest in, glowering into her grain alcohol punch as Tori, drunk on the same red concoction, gift-wrapped herself around Gavin and sandbagged him with her boozy gibberish. If Gavin hoped to mollify Zoe with his sheepishness, it didn’t work. Every time he looked at her with his hangdog eyes, she felt as though he was lifting up his shirt and showing her the soft spot just underneath his ribs.
It gave her courage. She raised an arrow and fired a well-engineered slip-of-the-tongue, outing herself as the other woman to a loud-mouthed junior, a girl who didn’t have her own social life and so scavenged off everyone else’s. To complete the transaction, Zoe slapped her hand over her mouth—Oops!—after she let the tidbit fly.
The news ripped through the party like wildfire, flaming red and orange behind the eyes of revelers who had just won front-row seats to the explosion of someone’s private life. A giggly Tori was grabbed and dragged into the bathroom by two girlfriends. The crowd crackled with a pre-concert fervor. Moments ticked by; conversations around the room were window-dressing, easily abandoned when the bathroom door reopened and harsh fluorescent light carved a path through the dark, smoky room. Every party guest, while pretending not to care, tracked Tori’s stomp across the floor and over to Gavin; then all pretense of disinterest was shed as Tori wound up to slap him.
————
Gavin knew something was up when Tori’s friends yanked her off, and so when he saw her shoot out of the bathroom and bullet towards him, he could guess what was coming. Oh my God. Here it comes. Why didn’t I end it earlier? What the hell is wrong with me? There is seriously something wrong with me. He braced himself for the slap.
But it never came.
Instead, Tori dropped her hand down by her side. He could feel the fury steaming off her, she was trembling with it, and he could see how much effort it had taken for her to drop her hand. She leaned her face in; he could smell the punch on her breath.
“You’re such a fucking cliché, Gavin.” She spit the words at him. Her eyes were narrowed, focused and fierce. She eyeballed his chest and looked back up to his face. “Is there even anyone in there?”
The words, her tone, landed on him like a gob of sticky saliva. He had been ready for the sting of the slap, but this was worse. He felt exposed, ugly. He stood very still; there was no retort on his lips. The silence hung in the air between them.
“That’s what I thought,” she sneered. She turned and walked away.
Gavin crossed his arms over his chest and scanned the crowd to see who had gotten a load of this. Some people looked away, others weren’t quick enough. He saw Zoe among the rubberneckers, hardly obscured because of her height, and he started towards her, reassuring himself as he walked that while everyone had been watching, no one could have heard what Tori said. He squared his shoulders, and with each step he put another piece of his social armor back on.
“Wow,” Gavin said, and to cover up his real shame, he hung his head like a small boy in front of the principal.
“Dare I ask what she said?”
“Basically she said ‘Fuck you.’”
“Creative,” Zoe said. “You okay?”
He nodded, trying to regain his bearings. “Let’s get a beer. I could definitely use one.”
They walked next to each other, not quite touching. As usual, people shifted to let Gavin through, but brothers and guests alike were subdued as the two of them passed, a few nods and weak smiles taking the place of back-clapping. Gavin shouldered the weight of the room as he stood with his back to the crowd and filled up a pitcher of beer. Zoe stood next to him, her spine regal. She snaked a hand into his back pocket.
Gavin exhaled.
Once in the safety of his room—one of the few singles in the fraternity—they dropped onto the blanket-covered couch and Gavin filled two cups, quickly chugging and refilling his own. “I’m going to get drunk. Want to join me?”
Zoe chugged her beer in response. “Sure.” She held out her cup. “I think we both deserve it.”
Gavin thought Tori might feel differently about that, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he reached for Zoe and pulled her into him, kissing her hard, needing to be inside of her with a voracity that still surprised him. Their sexual electricity stung him all day, every day, even—unbelievably—on the football field. A flash of Zoe’s guarded blue eyes wide open in delirium often blindsided him in the middle of a play. Luckily, the blast of adrenaline in his legs compensated for the momentary mental fumble.
————
Zoe undid the button on Gavin’s jeans with one hand and wrenched down his zipper, desperate for him to cover her, to lose himself in her, intoxicated with the idea that she now had him all to hers
elf. She was crazy about him in a way that sometimes frightened her; she actually looked up to him, and whenever they were together, he unleashed all the colored butterflies in her stomach.
The only thing she had in common with Tori was that she could imagine feeling the same anguish if Gavin ever dumped her. She would never advertise it of course, but she’d be devastated. She had resolved that night never to give him a reason.
Now, a year later, she was just as determined to hang onto him. She placed the order for the pizza and waited for Gavin to get out of the shower.
————
A week later, Zoe paused in the front hall of her mother and stepfather’s apartment and breathed in the quiet, cool indifference. It always felt good to come home, for the first 24 hours at least. The apartment’s sanitized affect was the ultimate Valium, a white padded room after a semester with Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey.
She was careful not to put her heavy bags down on the polished-wood floor, and she held onto all of them as her footsteps echoed through the dustless halls and into rooms filled with uncomfortable, posed furniture. All traces of life-lived had been tucked away in closets and dishwashers, leaving only expressionless reflections on the expensive tables. She noted that her mother (or her mother’s decorator) had made the seasonal switch into holiday mode; the everyday white and beige linen had been glammed up with accents of gold and silver—even the sofa pillows preened in gold lamé. The red and green ornaments, the Santa candles, and the wooden painted reindeer that Zoe had loved when she was young had long ago been donated to charity. The Christmas theme at the McCallister’s was now 100 percent precious metal.
She stepped into her room, an anomaly because of its bright purple walls. Zoe secretly disliked the purple as much as her mother and stepfather, but the statement it made was priceless. She dumped her stuff on the floor, flopped down on her bed, and wondered when someone would notice that she was home.
————
Christmas morning was orderly; everyone showered, dressed, and arrived in the living room promptly at nine, arranging themselves on wingback chairs around the tree for a sedate round of gift-giving. Even her stepsister Georgette, who was only five and should have been whooping it up amidst the chaos of ripped paper and ecstasy, perched with her hands in her lap and waited her turn. Zoe shared her seat with a brightly-wrapped gift, guarding it from the polite exchange. It was the only present she cared about and she wanted it to be last. Finally, when all the toys, electronics, and sweaters had been opened and properly acknowledged, she handed the box to her mother with a rush of anticipation and pride. Its obvious shape made Meredith smile, and her blue eyes sparkled at her daughter as she unwrapped.
“Oooo, black and strappy,” her mother said as she held up the shoes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Zoe grinned. “Can I borrow them tomorrow night?”
“Haha!” Meredith crossed the room and bear hugged Zoe. “It’s so great to have you home.”
Zoe’s squeeze back slackened as she caught her stepfather’s dark eyes. His nostrils were flared, and he seemed to be peering down his nose, gloating, although he was looking straight ahead.
“Merry Christmas, everybody.” Meredith balanced on the edge of Zoe’s chair, her arm still wrapped around her daughter.
“Not so fast.”
Meredith’s arm dropped from Zoe’s shoulders as everyone shifted towards William. He reached into his pocket, and with the flair of a magician, whipped out a gold envelope.
“There’s one more.”
Zoe was sure she saw a cruel glint in his eyes as he bestowed the envelope on Meredith, and it wasn’t a reflection from the tree lights. She held her breath as Meredith slid a polished fingernail underneath the seal and pulled out two airline tickets. Her mother’s face lit up with delight.
“Aruba!” She rushed towards William and threw her arms around him. The shoes clattered to the hardwood floor, the black straps askew like broken limbs.
They lay there until the next morning. After the limo raced off to the airport, Zoe gently packed them back in the box, and placed them on a shelf in her mother’s closet.
Then she picked up the phone. If she was going to stay in New York over break, she was not going to stay alone.
————
The four girls were stationed in front of the enormous bathroom mirror, each zooming in on their own personal flaws, burning holes in the silvery glass as they examined every pore. Despite the acute self-absorption, they were very much aware of each other—not of the stunning mosaic they made as a group, but of the essence of other, better glimmering just around their edges. The beautiful company only highlighted imperfections—real or perceived—that they each saw in their own reflection. Every one of them would kill for something different—bigger breasts, straighter hair, a skinnier waist, a smaller nose—imagining that their lives and loves might be different if only. The mirror, mirror, on the wall and the image it cast back was the whole truth, and it brandished more power and meaning than all the personality or talent housed just underneath the eyeliner and blush. At least on a Saturday night in a bathroom with mirrors.
At eight o’clock, an announcement from the doorman in the lobby—“You have guests, Ms. Chapin”—tore the girls away from themselves, and within minutes, modish friends, friends-of friends, and appropriate-looking strangers began to stream into the lavish apartment. After ensuring that the logistics were all set—fridge stocked, ashtrays out, music on loud—Zoe abdicated her role as hostess, becoming a very laissez-faire guest, displaying none of the typical teenage hostess’ “Don’t touch that!” anxiety. While much of this attitude was just Zoe’s demeanor anyway, Allie suspected that a part of her was hoping someone would drop a cigarette on her stepfather’s white carpet.
————
Megan wrapped her arms around Dana in a bear hug. “I haven’t even said hi to you yet. It’s so good to see you.”
“What’s one of the most beautiful girls at the party doing in here all by herself?” Dana said as they broke away from each other.
“You’ve obviously had a few too many drinks.” She smiled.
“And you look like you were waiting for someone. Will he come over if I’m here? Am I cramping your style?”
Megan swatted Dana’s arm, although he was right, she had been hoping that Ted, a guy from school she liked, would notice her alone in the kitchen and come over. “If he’s scared of you, then he has no balls and I should rethink my interest, or at least change my strategy.”
“You should change it anyway. The lonely damsel routine? You should go over and just grab his butt, that’ll get his attention.”
“You fell for it.”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker.” Dana raised his beer in a mock toast. “So which one is he?”
“The tall one over near the fire, talking with that guy in the green shirt. But don’t let him see you looking.”
Dana waited a minute before spinning around. “I actually talked to him earlier, seemed nice. I’ll just go tell him you’re in here.”
“No!” Megan grabbed Dana’s arm, pulling him back. “Why don’t you go pick on somebody else?”
“Nowhere near as much fun.” He grinned.
Megan leaned back against the counter. “So how are you, anyway? Have you been running?”
“Not as much as I should. You’ve spoiled me for company, and I couldn’t get Allie to go with me. For some reason, I just can’t convince her that gasping for breath and sweating like a pig are good things.”
“I didn’t run much either. I have to say, I don’t miss getting my butt kicked.”
“Don’t worry. Next time I visit, I’ll take it easy on you. I’m out of shape.”
“I’ll hold you to it, although I can’t quite picture you taking it easy. Has anyone ever mentioned that you’re slightly com
petitive?”
Dana laughed. “A few times.”
“A few hundred I’m guessing,” Megan said, pretending to mutter under her breath.
“I heard that.”
Megan smiled. “So, how was Christmas with Allie?”
“Awesome, although when Zoe called, we were more than ready to get out from under my family.” He rolled his eyes. “My sisters—well, the word dramatic doesn’t quite cover it. I love them to death, but let’s just say the emotional volume in my house is turned up all the way. My dad and I end up cowering in another room, staying very quiet rather than risk making it all louder, angrier, sadder, or just more in some way.” He leaned in and mock-whispered, “And my parents… they wonder if Allie’s a bad influence on me.” He resumed his normal tone. “So with my mom trying to act as if nothing was wrong—extra perky if you can imagine—and the background theater of my sisters, it was interesting. How about you, how was your Christmas?”
“Great, nice to be home; sleeping, seeing old friends, being tortured by my brothers, not necessarily in that order. But I’m ready to go back.”
“Me too, I guess. I may have to kidnap Allie though, I can’t imagine saying goodbye to her again.”
“Kidnapping is a felony. And I’d miss her too much.”
Dana’s brown eyes grew somber. “I know. I’m glad you’re there for her.”
“We’re there for each other. Speaking of which, where is she?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to give her a little space and not be the nightmare who’s stapled to her side all night because he doesn’t know anyone.” Dana smiled, his eyes twinkling. “See, so actually, I was the damsel in distress, and you fell for my scheme.”
Megan glanced out into the living room to see if she could spot Allie, and paled a shade when she did. Allie was hunched in a far corner, a dark-haired guy leaning into her, his hand on the wall above her as if for balance. The silver bracelet Dana had given Allie for Christmas sparkled as her fingers raked through her hair.
Dana followed Megan’s gaze across the party, then turned back with some serious question marks in his eyes.
The Truth Is a Theory Page 5