A Wilder Name

by Laura Resnick

  “I’ll translate.” She did.

  “That’s what they’re saying? What a load of rubbish. I liked it better when I couldn’t understand them.”

  Nina sighed. Her introduction to rock was not much more promising.

  “What are they saying? How am I supposed to be enthralled by their song if they mumble all the words?”

  Luke told her what they were saying.

  “What a load of rubbish,” she said.

  As a compromise, they tried some rock classics.

  “What do I care about this person’s obsession with his purple suede shoes?”

  “Blue. And it’s got a great beat,” Luke insisted.

  “I find it ironic that you of all people should enjoy a song about animal hide.”

  There were other disagreements, too. She didn’t like a few of his wilder friends; he didn’t like a few of her more conservative ones. He was willing to talk to all the odd strangers who approached him in New York, particularly in the park; she was appalled and a little frightened. He liked socially relevant and thought-provoking books and movies; she preferred classics and escapism. He liked simple restaurants with wholesome food; she liked elegant dining with exotic cuisine.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked, poking at the sashimi on his plate in Nina’s favorite Japanese restaurant.

  “It’s raw octopus. Just taste it.”

  He did.

  “I’m glad you’re paying for this stuff,” he said at last.

  One restaurant they could both agree on was Les Précieuses.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Luke said cheerfully as they dined there nostalgically one evening. “I just sit here while people put my napkin on my lap, fill my glass, slice my food, and give me silverware.”

  “It’s better than that place you took me to with crayons and paper tablecloths.”

  “Hey, I love that place.”

  When the bill came, Luke said only, “Ah, well, forewarned is forearmed. Serves me right for getting mixed up with an expensive girl like you.”

  After another culinary adventure at Raw Deal, Nina decided to bring up a subject of some disagreement between them.

  As they walked home, she said, “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you once this afternoon, has it, to hold open a door for me, to pull out a chair for me, to take my arm as we cross the street?”

  He frowned at her. “Why? You’ve got two arms and two legs. Pull out your own chair.”

  “Obviously, I am physically capable of such things. That’s not the point. The point is, they are social amenities that I appreciate,” she said in exasperation.

  “Look, Nina, that sort of thing has its place at Les Précieuses, but don’t you think I’d look pretty silly standing halfway inside the ladies’ room at Raw Deal holding a stool for you? And you’ve been successfully crossing the street without my help your whole life.”

  “Look at it this way,” she wheedled, trying a new approach, “it’s such a small thing, it would take so little effort on your part, and I would appreciate it so much.”

  “I am not going to be taken in by that sweet, wide-eyed look, Nina,” said Luke with a distinct lack of conviction.

  They finally agreed that Luke would exercise gentlemanly manners when the occasion warranted it, particularly when they dressed up and went out. And the rest of the time, Nina could pull out her own chair.

  Since the frequent arguing—and shouting—was beginning to take its toll on Nina’s voice, she found another method of venting her wrath at Luke. She threw unbreakable objects at him.

  “That’s it,” he said one night as they returned to her apartment. “No more of these arty foreign films.”

  A pillow sailed past his head.

  “You can’t mean to tell me you liked that dreck?” he asked. Nina nodded.

  “Oh, come on, Nina. Melodramatic, self-indulgent—”

  She threw a few balls of yarn at him.

  “And the bit where the guy ‘nobly’ sacrifices the girl. How do you suppose she felt about it?”

  She threw a bedroom slipper at him as he lay down on the couch.

  “I think all that raw fish you eat must have addled your brain,” he said.

  Nina jumped on top of him and clobbered him with a couch cushion. Then she resorted to her second, more effective way of dealing with him. Luke cooperated nobly.

  The rewards were there, too. He was teaching her to cook and drive, but on a deeper level he was opening her eyes to many things. She became aware of the world around her, of social injustice, of neglect and cruelty, of poverty and alienation, of so many of the things that had moved Luke to tell the world about them in his songs. But he also opened her eyes to beautiful things: the kindness one stranger may show another; the way a young child or animal will discover for the first time each day things the adult has long taken for granted; the courage of ordinary, daily life.

  A closeness was growing between them that made all the arguments and obstacles seem worth the effort. He seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of her, often knowing what she thought or wanted before she spoke aloud. His thoughts were still largely a mystery to her, but she was definitely learning his tastes and character traits and habits. She often knew what his reactions to people and events would be.

  Of course, he frequently surprised her.

  She met him one day coming out of the studio where he was working on a video. He was exhausted and irritable.

  “Hi,” he said and kissed her briefly.

  Hand in hand they started to walk away. Someone took their picture. A reporter came running up to them.

  “Miss Gagganerelli—”

  “Gnagnarelli. Nya-nya-rel-li. Can’t you people get it right?”

  “Is it true you were married to the wealthy French playboy Philippe Garnier?”

  Nina stopped dead in her tracks. She had hoped the press wouldn’t dig up the details of her divorce. It had been more than three years ago.

  “Get lost,” snapped Luke, pulling Nina closer as he walked.

  “Come on, Nina,” said the reporter with sly familiarity. “Is it true you were penniless when he married you? That he made you a star?”

  “Go away!” she gasped.

  “How did you feel when you found your husband in bed with another woman?”

  “Back off,” said Luke belligerently.

  “Did you know about the other women, Nina? Did you care, or did you marry him for his money?”

  Nina started to cry. Luke had never actually seen her cry. Something inside him snapped. He grabbed the reporter’s shirt, intending to beat the man to within an inch of his life. By the time Luke came to his senses someone had taken photographs of the whole thing.

  “Come on,” Luke grabbed Nina’s hand and hailed a cab. It was a short drive to his apartment. Nina had stopped crying by the time they were inside.

  “My hero.” She laughed tearfully against his chest as he held her.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered against her hair.

  “I know it’s not your fault. But I think I once heard a wise man say, ‘If you hit reporters, it only encourages them to print more about you.’”

  “I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to keep it out of print.”

  He spent the rest of the evening on the telephone to Kate, his lawyers, and a few influential friends.

  There was a published photo two days later of Luke standing next to the distraught reporter. Luke’s fists were balled and he wore a scowl on his face. The article was fairly mild, saying only that the “arrogant and unpredictable rock star” had lost his temper and threatened to beat up a reporter for asking Nina probing questions about her divorce. It could have been worse.

  Another printed story, however, amused them enormously. Luke’s name appeared in a short paragraph below the caption The Spy Who Loved Me?

  “What now?” Luke asked as Nina showed it to him with a broad grin.

  Luke Swain, the columnist info
rmed enthralled readers, had been spotted at a small, romantic, candlelit restaurant in an obscure town upstate. With him, apparently, was a beautiful foreign woman who chose to keep her identity a secret. “Sources” revealed that the sensual purr of her husky voice—

  “Husky voice?” Luke said. “You’re a soprano.”

  “Read on. It gets better.”

  The sensual purr of her husky voice revealed a thick Slavic accent. Was she a diplomat, as Luke claimed? Or was she really a spy? A defector even? What were Luke Swain and this mystery woman doing so far off the beaten path? Enjoying a little comradeerie?

  “I think we should frame it,” said Nina.

  “I think we should debrief the columnist,” Luke said.

  “No, don’t. At least it takes attention off me.”

  “If you say so.” He scanned the article again and chuckled. “This is priceless. Let’s just hope it doesn’t get me put on a government list somewhere.”

  “Oh, I’d defend you, Luke,” said Nina, slipping her arms around his neck.

  “You would?” he asked lazily, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her closer.

  “Yes. I’d tell them that woman wasn’t an East European spy.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she breathed against his lips.

  “Who could she be then?”

  “I’d tell them that you’re making friends with extraterrestrials.”

  “That’ll make all the difference, I’m sure,” he said dryly.

  “I just want to support responsible journalism.”

  “It’s good to know I can count on you.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Then come here,” he whispered, pressing the length of his body against hers, blatantly showing her he was interested in something far more exciting than international spies or visitors from outer space.

  Despite their differences and the difficulties involved in their relationship, it seemed Luke had been right. There was something special between them, something worth trying for.

  Or so Nina thought until the night of the party.

  Ten

  There were teeth marks on Luke’s shoulder and scratches on his back.

  “Gosh, did I do that?” Nina asked in sleepy astonishment.

  “There was no one else here,” Luke teased.

  She traced the small, even teeth marks lightly with her fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “But it serves you right for teasing me so. I thought I would go crazy.”

  They grinned deliciously at each other, their eyes glowing with the memory. Luke’s bedroom was still heavy with their mingled scent.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “When I was a kid it was considered macho to have your girlfriend’s marks on you.”

  “I think you left a few of your own on me.” She showed him.

  “Oh, Nina, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?” he asked seriously.

  “No, of course not.” She put her arms around his neck and demonstrated her good health.

  “I guess we both played pretty rough,” he admitted.

  “Hmm.” They kissed again. “Let’s get ready or we’ll be late meeting Gingie. It’s nearly seven o’clock.”

  “Shower first,” Luke said, taking her hand.

  Nina’s eyes widened. “Together?”

  “Why not?”

  Nina’s cheeks reddened.

  “Nina, after all the things we’ve done together, I can’t believe you’re still capable of embarrassment. Don’t you remember what you did a few hours ago, you shameless woman?”

  “Well, yes...”

  “You’ll wash me, I’ll wash you. Strictly business.”

  It wasn’t quite that simple, but they were washed and dressed an hour later.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to make the rest of me go with this crazy outfit. I feel a tad overdressed.” She was adding dramatic highlights to her eyes and cheekbones and letting her hair go a bit wilder than usual.

  “You look great,” he assured her.

  In fact, Nina’s metallic dress and accessories were almost mild in comparison to Gingie’s outfit which was glittering, flamboyant, brightly dyed, and wildly styled—very much like Gingie herself. Luke had described her to Nina as unconventional and lovable. That was a laughable understatement, both adjectives being woefully inadequate to describe the blond singer. Gingie had reached the top of her profession, evidence of a lot of talent and hard work, yet she seemed extraordinarily lacking in mundane traits such as common sense, practicality, and logic. As Luke had predicted, Nina was amazed and astonished by Gingie all through dinner. She also realized almost immediately why Gingie was such a valued friend in Luke’s life, since Nina was also drawn to the woman’s honest warmth and generosity.

  Gingie’s date that evening was a shy, quiet, almost mousy young man named Sandy who scarcely said two words to Nina the whole night. Luke informed her with dancing eyes, when they had a moment alone together, that Sandy was one of the hottest, most controversial acts in rock, best known for the blatantly sexual songs which frequently got him banned.

  “You can’t be serious,” Nina said.

  “Absolutely,” Luke assured her. “This week he’s number one in the album, single and dance charts with a song called Steam Me Up.”

  “You must be kidding.” She stole a peek at Sandy, who was helping Gingie on with her coat; shaped like an octopus, the garment had eight arms, and Gingie was having trouble figuring out which two she was supposed to use.

  “Does Sandy ever talk to anyone besides Gingie?” Nina asked Luke.

  “Not often.”

  “He’s so shy...”

  “Apparently his stage persona is only a stage persona. He may be the heartthrob of millions, but in person he’s too shy to even ask a woman out for a date. So Gingie takes him everywhere.”

  “So they’re not—”

  “No, Gingie just sort of babysits him. They met somehow, and she just took him under her wing. He’s pretty attached to her now.”

  “I can understand why. It would be hard not to like her. Why doesn’t she encourage him to grow up, though?”

  “She does.” Luke grinned wryly and shook his head. “I suppose he’s a little confused right now. It’s a tough business. If I were nineteen years old and had gone from obscurity to instant stardom in six months’ time, I’d be pretty confused, too.”

  Nina took Luke’s hand as they walked outside to hall a cab and wait for Gingie to untangle herself.

  “Are there any normal people in your business, Luke?” Nina asked uncertainly.

  “There’s me.”

  “Is that the best you can offer?”

  He grinned at her. “Are you implying I’m abnormal?”

  “Heaven forbid.”

  “Come on, Nina, are you trying to pretend no one in opera is a little eccentric, a little bizarre, or just plain weird?”

  “It’s just not ... like this,” she finished, looking at the two rock stars who finally emerged from the restaurant, one so shy he wouldn’t speak to anyone but the other, who was dressed like an octopus.

  “Yes, I see your point,” Luke admitted dryly. “But you have to admit it’s fun.”

  “It has its ups and downs.”

  “I hope this is one of the ups,” Luke whispered and kissed her softly.

  They spent five minutes maneuvering Gingie’s outfit into the cab without hurting anyone. When they finally arrived at the large reception hall where Luke’s record company was hosting the celebrity-packed event, the party was going full swing.

  Rock music blared from an expensive stereo system. Nina could appreciate the festive atmosphere as guests danced, ate, drank, and talked. The room had been decorated with musical awards and with posters of all the singers and musicians under contract to the company.

  A giant poster of Luke gazed at the room with lazy sensuality, while Gingie was shown on the opposite wall with both arms thrown over her head. S
andy’s poster dominated an entire wall, showing the shy boy in the most graphically sexual pose Nina had ever had the misfortune to see photographed.

  “Luke, how do you feel when you see a larger than life poster of yourself staring at you all evening?” Nina asked curiously.

  He shrugged. “It used to be unnerving. Now I just ignore it.”

  Sandy looked at his own poster as indifferently as if it were someone else—which, in a sense, it was.

  Gingie, on the other hand, complained loudly about hers. “I hate that picture! They know I hate that picture! They put it up there just to annoy me!”

  “Gingie and the company have some slight misunderstandings,” Luke explained to Nina.

  “Irreconcilable differences,” Gingie said emphatically.

  “Why did you come?” Nina asked her.

  “Sandy had to come,” Gingie said simply. Sandy slipped his arm through Gingie’s and looked as if he fully intended to hang on to her until he could go home. Luke went to get them all something to drink.

  “This is green,” Nina pointed out when he handed her a glass a few minutes later.

  “I think it’s got crème de menthe in it,” he said. “They insisted we try it.”

  Nina took a sip and grimaced. “It tastes more like avocado.”

  “Really?” exclaimed Gingie. “Here, let’s swap. You can have mine. It’s just puce colored.”

  Nina took Gingie’s drink and watched with amazement as Gingie sipped the green mixture and declared it to be delicious.

  “I’m glad you came, Nina,” Gingie said. “I already know your astrological sign and your ex-husband’s name, but this is the first time we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  “You read that stuff?” Luke asked incredulously.

  “When I saw the headline Luke Swain Slugs Reporter I couldn’t resist. And Luke, I thought you were mellowing in your old age.”

  “Nina manages to sharpen the smooth edges,” Luke said wryly.

  Nina put down her puce-colored drink with a sigh of defeat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can get anything as mundane as a club soda.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Luke said instantly.

  “Don’t be silly. I can find the bar without help. You sit and have fun with Gingie ... and Sandy.”