The Romantics

by Galt Niederhoffer

  “What’d you do then?” Jake asked.

  “I got into Yale,” she said. She shook her head, fighting another swell of despair. “I was headed for greatness then.”

  “You still are,” Jake said.

  Tripler closed her eyes as a teardrop slid down her cheek. “I can’t even take credit for that.” She winced. “I cheated on my SATs.”

  On reflex, Jake’s mouth fell open, and he sat, gaping for a moment. Then he realized the severity of his expression and consciously closed his mouth.

  Tripler sat, head bowed and eyes closed, reveling in the release of the confession, then, without warning, she burst into tears again as though trying to best her previous performance. “We’re such horrible clichés,” she said. “Everything we are. Everything we say.”

  Jake smiled compassionately, shook his head.

  “Now’s where you say, ‘Don’t be silly, you are a great actress. And then I say, ‘Your novel is going to change the world.’”

  “And then I say, ‘Weren’t we supposed to save the world?’”

  “And then I say, ‘The world’s all gone to shit. What does it matter anyway?’”

  “And then we kiss in a desperate displacement of our need to connect.”

  Tripler paused, confused by the new tenor of their conversation. Were they still speaking theoretically? Or had they agreed on a secret code? And because she had reached the summit of her high and the low point of her self-respect, she was at a loss to tell the difference. So she took Jake at his word, leaned over the counter, and kissed him on the lips.

  Jake kissed back for several seconds before pushing her away.

  “What,” she said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Weesie, for one. And Pete.”

  “God,” said Tripler. “Don’t be such an altar boy. I’m totally wasted.”

  Luckily, this explanation succeeded in relieving both her guilt and mortification. Unfazed, she dismissed Jake with a disapproving shrug and inhaled the remainder of her supply.

  The trek up the stairs was far more treacherous than the basement search. It essentially required sneaking past an entire household—eight rooms filled to capacity with sleeping family members and guests. Therefore, the best approach, Tripler and Jake decided, was to move at maximum speed, to sprint on their tiptoes from the living room to the third floor of the house.

  They completed the climb to the second landing easily, their footsteps muffled by a runner bolted to the stairs. The second flight was far more precarious as the runner gave way to wooden planks. Jake paused for a moment as he approached the third landing, cautioned by a partially open door and the glow of a bedside lamp. Tripler motioned for him to proceed with an exasperated look.

  Moving slowly, she walked to Lila’s door with exaggerated stealth. She craned her neck around the door, already wearing a triumphant smile. But she was totally stilled by the scene inside: Lila sat on her windowsill, staring out at the lawn. Tom was nowhere to be found.

  Surprise cost Tripler her composure. Instinctively, she recoiled. As she leapt toward the stairs, she inadvertently rattled Lila’s door. “Hello?” said Lila.

  Tripler froze. Jake gestured toward the attic. “Mother?” called Lila.

  Tripler darted up the stairs with Jake trailing behind. As they fled, they abandoned propriety, bolting up two steps at a time with all the subtlety of wild boars.

  When they opened the door to the attic, they were greeted by a chilling image: a figure dwarfed by a wedding dress several sizes too large, as though it had emerged from the grave, shrunken and brittle, to reclaim the forgotten apparel. The surroundings did little to soften the image. The spectral figure was lit by the moon so that light sifted in from the window through her hair, casting a ghoulish shadow on the nearest wall. At the sight of the eerie silhouette, Tripler nearly fainted. Jake, however, was quick to respond. He turned on his heels, sprinted down the stairs, and disappeared into the darkness.

  TWELVE

  Tripler slipped out the door to the attic and stood still as Jake peeled off across the lawn. But she rued the decision within seconds. God knew how many people he had roused as he fled. She should have run while there was still time. “Hello,” said Lila. “Who’s out there?”

  Tripler tried to mute her panting by breathing through her nose. “Laura, Tripler? You guys are late.” A door swung open on the third landing.

  “It’s just me,” Tripler called, then she improvised, “Are the others here yet?”

  “No,” Lila snapped. “They’re not.”

  Tripler started down the stairs, walking very slowly. When she reached the third floor, she entered Lila’s room and loitered awkwardly near the door, hanging her head like a teenager busted for missing her curfew.

  Lila’s room was an impeccable, if slightly studied, model of femininity. A white lace bra dangled from an upholstered chair. An antique mirrored vanity offered up a trove of silver dishes, each one crammed with alluring rings and bangles. Tiny flowers seemed to bloom in every corner, dotting the sofa and the curtains. This room, even more than the rest of the house, had the quality of caricature, presenting a vignette of purity that all but called for deconstruction. As Tripler waited for her scolding, she wondered idly how many boys had seen the room before her.

  “Where the fuck is everyone?” Lila barked. She stood in the doorway in pink pajamas, a petite variation on an angry general.

  Tripler stood in silence, staring at Lila’s attire. Her pajamas were scattered with puffy white clouds, and her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, both of which combined with Lila’s acid tone to be comically incongruous. “I’m sure they’re on their way,” she lied.

  “They better be,” Lila said. “You guys promised you’d be here at midnight. You’re almost an hour late.”

  “I know,” Tripler lied. Drugs and alcohol had conspired to blur her memory of their scheduled visit. “Jake smuggled wine from the club,” she said, selling out her friend without hesitation. “They’ve all had so much to drink, I’d be surprised if they’re still conscious.”

  Lila stared at Tripler, unmoved.

  Tripler looked to the window, focused on the rosebuds. “It’s unbelievably rude,” Lila hissed. “You said you wanted us to have fun,” Tripler tried. Lila widened her eyes, enraged.

  Tripler immediately regretted the joke. All Lila craved was contrition. “I’m sorry,” she said, recanting. “We totally let you down.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Lila said.

  “We’re assholes,” Tripler added, remembering that the key to pleasing Lila was to degrade yourself in her presence.

  Lila raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly.

  “Can you ever forgive us?” Tripler asked. To her surprise, it was actually less degrading to prostrate herself to Lila in private.

  “It’s fine,” Lila said. She shrugged her shoulders in an exaggerated show of detachment, then crossed the room and seated herself on her bed, letting Tripler stand for several seconds before gesturing toward an ottoman. The disparity in height between the bed and the ottoman required that Tripler look up at Lila like a handmaiden at a princess.

  “So, how are you feeling?” Tripler said, forcing a transition. “You must be shitting your pants right now. Luckily, you’ve never looked better.”

  Lila smiled, taking the bait. “Actually, I’m not.” This was Lila’s preferred mode of conversation: two people jointly dissecting a theory about Lila. “Am I supposed to be nervous?” she asked.

  “No,” Tripler said. She kicked herself for walking into another trap. Lila’s second favorite mode of communication was debunking a popular theory. She took any opportunity to trash a favored film, support a hated political figure, or otherwise promote the notion that she was a wild iconoclast.

  “Were you nervous the night before your wedding?” Lila asked. The question was designed as both a query and an accusation. She might as well have cited a statistic that those who felt nervous on their wedding night wer
e most likely to watch their marriages end in shambles.

  Luckily, Tripler was familiar with the routine. “Actually, I was,” she said.

  “What were you nervous about?” Lila asked.

  “God, I don’t know. Everything? Having lame sex for the rest of my life. Having nothing to say over breakfast.”

  “Hmm,” Lila said.

  For a moment, Tripler wondered if her defense had been too compelling. It was the night before Lila’s wedding, after all, and her job was to boost her enthusiasm, not make an argument against marriage. But she quickly realized she had walked into another trap.

  “Wow, that sucks,” Lila said. “I guess I’m just really lucky.”

  Without fail, Lila managed to turn acts of kindness into acts of humiliation. “So, what can I do for you? Your bridesmaids are at your service, after all.” It was the first wise thing Tripler had said since entering the room. And the hypocrisy of the statement struck her. Surely, it was also a bridesmaid’s responsibility to make sure the groom didn’t go missing.

  “Nothing,” Lila said. She finally dispensed with the animosity she had harbored since discovering her guest.

  “You really should sleep,” Tripler said. “You’ll need all your energy for smiling.”

  Lila sighed amiably.

  “And don’t forget, you have to have sex tomorrow night. By the time you’re finally alone, you’re going to be exhausted. But you have to force yourself—”

  “Oh, I don’t need to worry about that,” Lila said, cutting her off. “That’s never been a problem for us.”

  Tripler inhaled, resisting the urge to engage Lila in a new debate. “Either way, you need some rest.”

  “I’ll try,” said Lila, and she finally reclined, extending her legs and sinking into her bed.

  Tripler stood and crossed the room. She paused at the door, her hand on the switch. “I’m sorry about the others,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” said Lila. “Just when you see them, could you tell them they’re not in my wedding anymore?”

  “I’ll do that,” Tripler said. She smiled with the patronizing wisdom of a beleaguered den mother. She made it only two steps down the hall before Lila called out again.

  “Was Tom with you guys?” Lila asked. Here, the pretense of nonchalance finally revealed a crack.

  Tripler stepped back into Lila’s room. “He was for a while.” She paused. “Then, he disappeared.”

  “Disappeared to where?” Lila snapped.

  Now, it was Tripler’s turn to feign nonchalance. “I assumed he snuck in to see you,” she said. “But I guess he just went back to his room to dream about nuptial bliss.”

  “Oh,” said Lila.

  Tripler switched off the light before Lila could press any further. She was suddenly overcome with guilt. She had absolutely no clue where Tom was at the moment and, worse, since he had disappeared, she had not given the subject much thought. In moments like this, it was hard to know the true ingredients of remorse: actual regret for one’s actions or fear of being found out. Wanting little to do with either, Tripler rushed down the stairs—and continued walking until she got to the Gettys’.

  Annie was not the kind of woman who was easily spooked by the dark. In fact, it was she who usually spurred a group to launch into ghost stories. As a child, she had devoted whole weekends to horror-movie marathons. So she agreed without hesitating when Oscar suggested that they leave Northern Gardens and canvass the surrounding island. Tom was unscathed, Oscar had concluded. He was likely walking off his anxiety, or sitting at one of his favorite haunts. The island was small enough, Oscar wagered, that they would surely find him if they followed the main road.

  But within an hour, Annie regretted her decision to follow Oscar. The utter absence of noise had quickly become unnerving. The main road, which was paved as you approached Northern Gardens, gave way to dirt as you walked inland. The endless expanse of graveyard had not helped, nor had the sparse, seemingly abandoned houses that dotted the road. Forget Tom. There was nary a sign of life at any of these landmarks. The houses seemed likely to have been just as dark during the daylight hours. Finally, they reached the swimming quarry at the north side of the island. Crickets and the haunting call of loons broke the silence.

  “I’m not going over there,” Annie said.

  “Why not?” said Oscar.

  “There’re probably ghosts. Or buried skeletons from when this place was a quarry.”

  “You’re more likely to find dinosaur bones,” said Oscar. “Maine was the dumping ground of the biggest land bridge of the Mesozoic Era.”

  “How do you still remember this stuff?” Annie asked.

  “Unlike some people I know,” said Oscar, “I actually did my reading in college.” He punctuated the insult by abandoning Annie and striding decisively toward the quarry.

  “Very funny,” said Annie. She followed Oscar for a few steps before deciding it was preferable to be left alone. But she quickly regretted the decision: The hoot of an owl and the snap of a twig sent her running after him.

  “That’s very courageous,” Oscar teased.

  Annie scoffed, then took his hand. “They still don’t even know how they disappeared,” she said. “You’d think with all these great minds on the case, they’d have figured it out by now.”

  “How who disappeared?” Oscar asked.

  “The dinosaurs.” Annie sniffed.

  “They know what it wasn’t,” Oscar maintained.

  “That’s certainty for you,” said Annie.

  “They know it wasn’t one great big bang.”

  “I thought that one was for sure. What’s the latest theory?”

  “Things changed gradually. Weather patterns, ocean levels, food supplies, the shape of continents.”

  “So basically, they just starved to death.”

  “Basically,” Oscar conceded.

  “See that’s what I hate about scientists,” said Annie. “They have to make everything so complicated.”

  Oscar stared at Annie for a moment, torn between setting her straight and saving the breath. Realizing it was a losing battle, he tried to change the subject. “So where do you think he is?” he asked.

  “The dinosaur?” Annie asked.

  “Tom,” said Oscar.

  “Hell if I know,” said Annie. “You’re the one with all the theories.”

  Oscar nodded, accepting the critique. It was true. He was stumped on this one. “What we have here is a classic conundrum in physics.”

  The comment was met with a groan, a reception earned by years of didactic pontification.

  “That’s what you get for marrying a science major,” said Oscar. “I haven’t married you yet,” said Annie.

  But Oscar, like most objects in motion, was not so easily stopped. “The Problem of Three Bodies states that bodies interact due to the gravitational forces between them. With two bodies, their motion can be analyzed and predicted. With three, it is much more complicated. The behavior can be chaotic.”

  “It doesn’t take a summa in quantum mechanics to know that a threesome can be complicated,” said Annie.

  “It’s the basis of chaos theory,” Oscar said. “Why the earth, the moon, and the sun remain in a fixed orbit.”

  “Who’s the moon, and who’s the earth,” Annie demanded.

  “Lila is the earth,” said Oscar.

  “And Laura’s the moon?” asked Annie.

  “Yes, why not,” said Oscar. “She’s mysterious, nocturnal, exotic. That long dark hair, those dark eyes.”

  “Why don’t you just say she’s so Jewish,” Annie snapped, “instead of dancing around the subject?”

  Oscar ignored the dig and continued to build his argument. “It’s a question that’s baffled physicists for centuries.”

  Annie interrupted again with a chilling impersonation. “Though, I daresay my work at Yale did shed some light on the subject.”

  Oscar paused to register his indignation, then continu
ed with his sermon. “It’s analogous to asking a woman if she loves you when she’s still unsure. The act of asking may induce some certainty that wasn’t there before you asked.”

  “Lucky you asked me when you did,” Annie quipped.

  “Well, not exactly,” said Oscar. “The collapse of wave function suggests I may have forced a response that was random.”

  As they spoke, a new sound graced the quarry, but this time it had a calming effect: rain, first in tentative drops, then with accelerating force, landing on the water in the quarry with the tenderness of a mother’s whisper.

  “Do you love me, Annie?” Oscar asked.

  “Of course,” said Annie. “Don’t be dumb.”

  “But what does that mean?” Oscar paused. “Would you be sad if I died?”

  “Oscar. Yes,” Annie said.

  “How sad?” Oscar pressed.

  “Heartbroken,” Annie said.

  “People recover from heartbreak.”

  “Devastated,” Annie tried.

  “Devastated?”

  “Completely and totally destroyed.”

  Oscar paused to consider the claim, as though evaluating a piece of produce. “I love you, too,” he said finally.

  They stood for a moment, listening to the rain, breathing in the scent of leaves.

  “Can we go back now?” Annie asked.

  Without a word, Oscar took her hand, and they set back on the drenched dirt road, running toward the house.

  THIRTEEN

  Jake entered the Gettys’, breathless and damp, just after one in the morning. His sprint from the Hayeses’ to the Gettys’ was equal parts frightening and exhilarating—frightening because shadows seemed to lurch from the trees, exhilarating because he had made a narrow escape from Lila. His sudden entrance to the house was equally confusing for Weesie and Pete, who were, at the time, entwined and half-dressed and, at the sound of the opening door, forced to disentangle and rebutton. When they heard Jake enter, they recoiled from each other as though they had touched a hot stove. The rushed fastening of straps and zippers made them feel particularly debauched and pathetic, like characters in a seventies sitcom.