Tell Me Lies

by Carola Lovering

  But I was usually horny and that was at least one thing Alice was still good for; despite my waning interest in her we continued to have sex. I think she took it as a sign that our relationship was still in good standing, but the truth was I needed sex more than ever that first year of law school. It was the one precious pocket of the day when I could forget my heavy textbooks and looming deadlines and cumbersome relationship and lose myself.

  I rode the 6 train downtown, toward NYU. The grimy subway car was sparse for a Sunday morning, and I wondered how many times I’d ridden this train back and forth, back and forth. I wouldn’t be riding this route much longer. What a fucking miracle we hadn’t signed a lease. Once law review applications were done in July, I was getting the hell out of there.

  41

  LUCY

  JUNE 2014

  The Monday after I moved into my new apartment on Third Street and Avenue B, Stephen asked me to meet him for a postwork drink. I’d moved in over the weekend; Bree wasn’t moving in until Wednesday.

  STEPHEN: Morning pretty girl. Meet for a drink at 7 tonight? 135 Avenue A is the address of the bar. I have news.

  Stephen’s messages to me—the simple sight of his name on my phone or email address in my in-box—never ceased to send a judder of excitement through my insides, even when our communication was regular.

  It was spitting rain as I strode toward 135 Avenue A under my umbrella, confidence dusting my heels. I had made it all happen, and faster than planned. Job, apartment, and now Stephen. I’d seen him a few times since I’d been back east, for coffee or drinks, but we couldn’t fool around, not with my commuting back to Cold Spring Harbor and his living with Alice. I hated the sound of her name.

  Stephen and I had only hooked up once since Bear Mountain, in the side stairwell of Lydia’s apartment building on a night when I’d been staying there, because there was nowhere else to do it and we were practically already screwing on the street after dinner at Tacombi. That kind of chemistry—God, nothing compared.

  But now I had my own apartment, and Stephen was on the brink of leaving Alice, and everything was different and fresh and even the smallest daily tasks, like buying water at the bodega or swiping my MetroCard, were tinged with a sense of purpose and possibility.

  I had to smile when I came to a halt in front of 135 Avenue A; the outside of the bar was black and in magenta cursive above the entrance a sign read: Lucy’s.

  I opened the door and as I walked through the bar the air seemed to move around me, filling the spaces where my body had been as I made my way forward. He sat at one of the tables in the back, hands folded neatly on the polished wood surface, his expression complacent. In one untraceable flicker his eyes were fastened to mine, and a sudden memory filled me up: I saw that same pair of eyes watching me from the houseboat on Lake Mead my freshman fall.

  It’s funny how people don’t change. I mean physically, how they don’t change. For example, I could look at a picture of Georgia at age two and she’d have the same distinct pointed elf ears that are still part of her twenty-three-year-old body.

  Stephen’s eyes were the same crazy green as they had always been. I could see the afternoon sunlight drenching the deck of that houseboat, three and a half years ago. In my memory I felt the allure of those first weeks at Baird, how in utter awe I’d been of everything happening around me. Whoever I was then seemed like a long-lost version of myself, someone I didn’t know anymore, and I couldn’t figure out how I’d gotten to where I was. I’d been experiencing the same recurring thoughts since I’d moved back to New York: What was I doing? Why was I still chasing him? Did I even like him as a person? How could I ever bank on a future with someone I couldn’t trust? There was that one stubborn, annoyingly veracious part of me that knew wanting Stephen had to be wrong. If you ignored the gray and got really honest, if everything in the world was separated into black and white, into good and bad, Stephen would fall into bad. For a fleeting moment, something foreign but persuasive filled me, and I debated turning around, leaving the bar, and never looking back. I could run six blocks to my new apartment and lock myself inside; he didn’t know the address yet.

  But my legs were moving forward, quickly, and the closer I got to the table, the more ecstatic energy rose behind my sternum. And that was my answer, forever. Maybe I didn’t always like him, but there is a difference between liking someone and loving them, and the power in that difference is enough to shape your life.

  I smelled his Old Spice. His bottom lip was wet with Scotch. I studied his familiar hand, how it gripped the glass, the half-moons on his fingernails.

  “Lucy’s, huh?” I glanced around.

  “Fitting, right?” One side of his mouth curled. “Have a seat. Stay awhile. I ordered you a glass of pinot noir. A drink for Lucy at Lucy’s.”

  “Clever.” I smiled and sat. Was I supposed to be angry with him? I couldn’t remember. I tasted the wine. It was just what I needed.

  “You look good, Luce,” he said. I studied his eyes, and wondered for a moment if it had always been about the way I looked. It wasn’t a new thought.

  “So do you,” I said, meaning it. Cleaned up in a suit and freshly shaven, Stephen looked handsome. I fingered the silky fabric of his red tie. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. My internship is a nice change of pace from school. The only drawback is having to wear a damn suit again.”

  “I like the suit.”

  “And how is your job?” he probed. “I googled The Suitest. It looks cool.”

  “It’s fine. It’s a lot of grunt work.”

  “Well, you’re an assistant. I know how that goes.”

  “Coordinator, actually.”

  “That’s corporate America’s gracious term for assistant, Luce. Hate to break it to you.”

  “Believe me, I know.” I rolled my eyes. “My boss is the best, though. Harry. He’s late forties and gay and hilarious.”

  “Having a good boss is important.”

  “Yeah. I can’t complain. It’s a job.”

  “That it is. You have a job. And an apartment. You’re finally a real New Yorker, Luce. You’re finally here.”

  The thought that I had the apartment to myself that night made me way more excited than I should’ve been, considering that Stephen still, technically, lived with Alice thirty blocks north. I studied his face. He really did look handsome.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” he said, interlacing his wide fingers in mine across the table. “I know you don’t love this situation.”

  “What situation?”

  “You know, me living with Alice . . .”

  “While we fuck?” I whispered. I knew it turned him on when I said fuck.

  “You know it’s not like that. Cut me some slack, Luce.”

  “I am cutting you slack. I’m just tired of sneaking around. I just want to be with you.”

  “And I want to be with you,” he said evenly, his eyes unblinking.

  “Only a couple of more weeks.” I drummed my fingertips against the wood surface.

  “I actually need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” Instant sweat coated my palms.

  He exhaled an audible sigh. “I need to stay in the apartment just a little longer. Law review applications are due at the end of July, and I just need to put in a little more time at school before—”

  “What are you saying?” My stomach was dropping like quicksand.

  “I probably need to stay there through the end of July, early August at the latest.”

  “August. August?” The momentary mirage shattered, my words erupting unconsciously. “You told me you were moving out in June. First you said the beginning of June, then it was the end of June, and now it’s August? How can you stay there for another six weeks? You talk so much shit about her. You’re so full of shit it’s a joke. We are a joke. You ask me for naked pictures every fucking day because you ‘can’t fall asleep without seeing them.’ I’m a low-rate porn star, is
all. Some girl in a photograph who gets you going before you go and fuck your girlfriend.” I lurched back in my chair, livid.

  “Lucy—”

  “I don’t believe anything you say anymore. All you do is lie. This entire thing—whatever the fuck this is—has been one giant lie.”

  I forced myself to stand. I knew people were staring but I kept my eyes locked to the dirty floor as I moved toward the exit. I thought of Dr. Wattenbarger, of how disappointed he would be in me for landing myself back here. I hadn’t had an appointment with him in months.

  Outside, the air had turned to fog, a dense mass of whiteness. In the hazy weather I couldn’t see a foot ahead. A damp film covered my bare arms, and I realized I’d left my jacket inside. I shivered in the misty rain, my stomach a wrenching pool of sickness.

  Stephen bounded out of the bar, and I watched him squint to find me in the fog. I wanted to hop in a cab to Penn Station and take the train home and crawl into CJ’s arms and ask my mother what the hell I was supposed to do. I wanted this more than I could stomach, so much so that the reminder of CJ’s betrayal eviscerated me in its full capacity all over again, and I knew I couldn’t go home because that safe, unconditional space of love in my mother’s arms had long since ceased to exist for me. All I could do was stand still and watch as Stephen’s bright eyes found me through the mist, and he walked toward me, my jacket tucked under his arm. I knew he would say something that would make me feel better—whether or not it was true didn’t matter anymore. He placed the jacket around my shoulders and smudged a tear from my cheek with his thumb.

  “Lucy.” His voice filled me. “Look, I know you want me to say that I’ll move out tomorrow. And I would if I could; you have my word on that. But I have law review applications and I can’t be homeless for a month—”

  “Homeless?” I felt defeated; I was shocked at the anger and defense so ready to spew out of me. “You would move back to Long Island and commute if you were really that miserable.”

  “You’re right, then,” he said. “I’m not miserable. I’m definitely not happy, but okay, it’s not so bad that I can’t suck it up until I’m totally done with school and law review in July. I can’t afford to get my own place right now—I’d have to pay first month’s rent, last month’s rent, a security deposit and probably a broker’s fee, all with no income. And if I moved back to Long Island, I’d spend three hours of the day commuting and my academic life would take a detrimental toll. I understand that you think I’m being selfish, but law school needs to be my priority right now. I’ve invested a ton of money and time into this, and I can’t afford to make a decision that risks losing what I stand to gain.”

  He looked like a lawyer who’d just given the jury his best argument. I willed my head to wrap itself around his logic. On paper it made sense. And Stephen was the kind of person who saw the world for what it could give him, for what he could take from it. Betrayal, shame, love—they were secondary hindrances, not even sacrifices.

  “I get it.” I stared passed his shoulder, not for a second forgetting that it was his shoulder.

  “Lucy, I don’t want her the way I want you. You have to know that.” Stephen looked concerned as he bent his head down toward mine. Shadows from passing cars danced across his face.

  “I’ve heard you say that before.”

  “Because it’s true. With Alice . . . I feel like I’m driving a Honda. And I want a BMW.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a metaphor. And you, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, are a BMW.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “You and I both know I’m crazy.”

  I looked up into his eyes. A million thoughts passed through my head, each of them like tiny invisible passengers clinging to a mass of tiny invisible chains. I knew only that I was happier here than anywhere else—the nonsensical, arbitrary, indiscriminate three centimeters from his face—and I knew that meant it was love, and even though I had always known I was in love with him I let myself relearn it, partially so that the psychosis of it could take responsibility for everything that I had done wrong.

  As Stephen enveloped me, I suddenly understood the other piece of the truth—Stephen and I were the same. I was emotionally intelligent enough to know that Stephen was not good, not objectively, but if I stood face-to-face with myself in the truest light, I wasn’t, either. For what I’d done to CJ and to Marilyn’s memory, for the way I’d treated Georgia and my father and Lydia and Parker and all the people who’d loved me without reason, I fell into the bad category. I’d internally justified all that behavior based on the rubric of CJ’s behavior and the Unforgivable Thing, but what I could finally feel now, surrendering in Stephen’s arms, was that no matter how justifiable that excuse was, it didn’t make me a good person. Maybe CJ wasn’t good, but neither was I, and neither was Stephen, and my love for Stephen finally made complete, wonderful, real sense, and if it were possible, I loved him even more.

  “So I’m a BMW, yeah?” I smiled up at him.

  I didn’t have to dislike myself anymore for indulging in the parts of him that I found offensive, even cruel. I imagined Alice on the couch in their apartment, flipping through TV channels and maybe having a glass of wine. She expected him home later, after his dinner with work colleagues, which would turn into postdinner drinks and important lawyer talk that he couldn’t afford to miss. In reality the work colleagues were me, and tonight she was a Honda, and her relationship was a lie.

  “You’re my BMW.” Stephen pressed his mouth to mine, and I didn’t doubt anything.

  We walked the six blocks back to my building on Third Street. Our apartment on the fourth floor of the walk-up was newly renovated; it was dark and empty and smelled of fresh paint. Patches of light spilled in from the building across the street.

  “This place is awesome,” Stephen said, walking around. His voice echoed since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “A dishwasher?” He stopped in the kitchen. “How much are they paying you at this hotel website, moneybags?”

  “According to Lydia, minimum wage.” I shook off my jacket, which was wet with mist. “But rent is reasonable in Alphabet City.”

  I led him through the small living area and Bree’s room, then my room. I walked over to the window next to my bed, which overlooked Third Street below.

  “It’s not the worst view,” Stephen said, standing behind me as I pressed my forehead against the glass. “The window in my first New York apartment faced a brick wall.”

  “I remember.”

  He placed his hands on my hips. He planted small kisses on the side of my neck until I turned around. I ran my hands over his smooth cheeks. It was the first time Stephen and I had been alone together in a real bedroom, with a real bed, in longer than I could remember. He leaned toward me. His kiss weakened my knee joints.

  “Stephen.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We should wait. We shouldn’t do this. I know we did it in the stairwell that time, but—”

  “I promise this will be better than the stairwell.” He slid his hands up my shirt.

  “Stephen.”

  “Luce. If you want me to go, I’ll go. Just say the word.”

  “I just—Alice. Don’t you feel guilty?” Maybe I was testing him. I definitely didn’t want him to go.

  “I don’t feel guilt. Not about this.”

  The words hung in the air, like smoke. I wasn’t sure what to do with them, but then Stephen peeled my shirt up over my head, and there was nothing left to interpret. We toppled onto the bare mattress, the only piece of furniture in the room. It still smelled new, like the thick plastic the men from Sleepy’s had delivered it in that morning.

  After we had sex he held me close and we watched the rain drip down the windows, cast with a vermilion glow from the streetlamps. He kissed the top of my back and let his mouth linger there, the heat of his breath soft against the base of my neck.

  I got up and walked to the kitchen and took two Amstel Light longnecks o
ut of the fridge. It was all that was in there; Bree had bought them for us the other day when we picked up the keys.

  Stephen and I sat up in bed, sipping the beers.

  “See, this is what I’m talking about,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “This.” He motioned his hand between us. “Us. In bed. Having beers. Naked. It’s awesome. It just feels . . . right.”

  “It does.” I smiled.

  “I know I always tell you, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, but you are so beautiful. I think you’re more beautiful every time I see you.”

  Affection drenched my insides. My body ached for him even though he was inches from me. The desire was insatiable. “You looked stupid hot in that suit.”

  “You must have been hammered.”

  “I had one drink.”

  I rested my head against his chest. An hour flew by.

  Stephen rubbed my knee. “It’s past two. I have to go.”

  I gripped his ankle. I thought I’d die if he left. I wanted him to stay the night, but knew I couldn’t ask. I knew what the answer would be, and couldn’t stand to hear it out loud.

  I lay horizontal on the bed and watched him dress, savoring the time. He kissed me on the forehead.

  “What about this?” I held up the red tie, which lay on the mattress.

  “Can’t forget that.”

  “Here, let me.”

  CJ taught Georgia and me how to tie a tie when we were younger. She said it was something that would come in handy later.

  As I secured the knot Stephen touched the backs of my bare thighs and I felt that rousing tug from deep inside.

  “What are you doing this weekend, birthday girl?”

  “I’ll be out in the Hamptons at Lydia’s. She’s saying something about throwing me a birthday party.” Lydia’s grandparents had a house in Sagaponack but were spending the summer traveling around Europe. Lydia and her cousins were allowed to use the house whenever.

  “You don’t say? I’ll be at the family place in Westhampton. I’d love to come by and see you, if that would be okay.” Stephen ran his hands over my bare back, and I nodded into his shoulder.