Naked

by Francine Pascal

  But there was no blood.

  There were no wounds.

  No shots.

  My God. The gun had been empty.

  Sam’s mouth fell open. Every part of his body shook. He scanned the street dizzily from left to right, tiny rivulets of sweat leaking down his temples. Central Park was suddenly a jungle war zone just across the street, with a potential gunman lurking behind every ominous rock, every misshapen tree, every crooked shadow.

  “Sam?” Gaia asked.

  Gaia. He had to get her inside. Now. He spun around and shoved her toward the door.

  “Stop it!” she shouted, ducking away from his attempted push. “What’s the matter with you? What did he say to you?”

  “I . . .” He backed away from her. Then he realized what had happened: she hadn’t seen the gun. Of course. He’d been standing right in front of the window. She wasn’t supposed to see it. The blanks were just for him. And that was when he was struck by the full implications of what had really happened. “That driver—he picked you up?” Sam croaked.

  Gaia shook her head as if he were a stranger—or a lunatic. Her eyes were slits, her brow tightly furrowed. “You saw me get out of the cab, didn’t you?”

  Sam’s eyes flashed back to the doorway, back to the doorman and the kid standing there, staring at him. They hadn’t seen the gun, either.

  “Get upstairs,” he commanded.

  “Sam, tell me what’s going on—”

  “Now!”

  Gaia blinked. “You know, you should have warned me, Sam,” she said.

  “Warned you?” He jerked slightly. A wave of panic swept over him, blotting out even the terror. Did she know? Had she somehow figured out that he had put her life in jeopardy—

  “You should have warned me you were such an asshole,” she finished. She turned and marched through the doors.

  Sam could only gape at her. On the other side of the glass the stares of the kid and the doorman were no longer frightened. They were threatening. The doorman was probably going to call the cops: “Disheveled teenager lurking outside my building—send help.”

  Time to go. Sam shook off the subconscious wish that the cabdriver’s gun had been loaded and sprinted down the sidewalk. It was strange: he’d experienced about a dozen of the worst possible emotions a human being could experience in less than sixty seconds. But in the wake of that onslaught, all he felt was clarity. He knew exactly what he had to do. He had to have another meeting with Josh. He had to go on the offensive. He had to eliminate the enemy. He would no longer be terrorized into submission. The chess game was just getting started.

  talk about narcissism

  She felt a pressing need to cast out the excess bullshit and remember what actually mattered to her and, more important, who actually mattered to her.

  “SO. . . UM, WHO WAS THAT GUY?” Paul asked, standing in his usual spot just on the other side of Mary’s open doorway.

  Deep Abyss

  Gaia shook her head and flopped back against the pillows. “Good question,” she mumbled. Yes, in fact, that was a profound question. Who was Sam Moon? Clearly he was many different personalities trapped in one body. There was Sam the liar. Sam the med student, who had once lived with Paul’s brother. Sam the chess player. And now, it seemed, there was Sam the jealous ex-boyfriend.

  This last identity was the one she couldn’t quite figure out. But maybe that was the lesson to be learned from all this absurd drama and inexplicable behavior. Maybe even after all this time, she still didn’t know Sam Moon at all.

  No, no. Wrong thought. Pummel that thought until it bleeds. In fact, she didn’t care much for any of the thoughts she was having. Every one of them needed to be knocked on its ass. The problem then became, however, that she was sitting in this room, and it was so quiet, and she was surrounded on all sides by Mary but without Mary—

  “So?” Paul prompted.

  “He’s just. . . a guy I know,” Gaia answered. It was a good thing Paul had never met him before; she didn’t want to get into the whole Brendan-Sam connection right now. “Or don’t know, depending on how you look at it.”

  Paul laughed. “Yeah. I think I understand.”

  Gaia sat up in bed and mustered a smile.

  But Paul wasn’t looking at her. He was staring down at his feet, his shaggy hair hanging in his eyes. He looked very young at that moment and very lost. Gaia had a flash of some feeling that she’d never felt before: she wanted to jump up and hug him—or to transform him magically into an egg and herself into a bird and keep him warm and safe in a nest hidden deep in a forest, far away from this room.

  Suddenly he glanced up at her. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. “My father taught me,” she said.

  He nodded. “Oh. Well.” His voice was distant and strained. He turned abruptly. “I. . . uh, think I better go to bed. Good night.” He shuffled across the hall, then closed his door behind him.

  Gaia chewed her lip. He probably thought she was a freak. He would be right, of course. She had to go to sleep. That was all she could do. She had to lie back again and think of absolutely nothing at all. Yes. It was an existential exercise, and she was good at that. She could simply wish herself into a deep abyss of nothingness. So she closed her eyes and sat there for a minute, letting the thoughts flow from her mind like dirty bathwater down a drain.

  But in the silence her ears perked up.

  She frowned. There was a muffled, sniffling sound coming from the hall—

  Paul is crying.

  Gaia held her breath.

  Mary’s brother was in his room alone, not ten feet away from her, in tears. Mary’s brother was in pain. It occurred to her that on all those nights when Mrs. Moss had heard that sound behind that door, she might never have actually opened the door. She might have been afraid to intrude on his private moment. She might have been afraid that she wouldn’t know what to say to him. Thankfully, being afraid was not one of Gaia’s problems. She could march in there right now. They’d made a pact, after all. But would she know what to say to him?

  It didn’t matter. She’d figure something out. It had been quite some time since being fearless had served a nonviolent purpose. She jumped off the bed and marched into the hall, then knocked on Paul’s door.

  The crying ceased.

  “Come in,” he mumbled.

  Gaia pushed open the door and found Paul sitting up against the head of his wrought-iron bed with his arms on his knees. He glanced up, making no attempt to wipe the tears from his face.

  “Hey,” she whispered.

  “Hey. I do this sometimes. Don’t be alarmed.”

  “I think I can handle it,” Gaia joked softly. She hesitated, then sat down at the base of the bed. “Well, you screwed up, Paul. You’re not following the rules.”

  Paul arched his right eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re sitting alone in your room, crying. Did you forget about our deal already?”

  He smiled from the corner of his mouth and finally wiped the tears from his face with a swipe of his forearm. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t do any better.” Gaia focused more intently on Paul’s deep blue eyes, now tinged with red. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Paul looked down at his hands. “I miss her. I don’t think it goes much deeper than that.”

  Gaia nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. She couldn’t remember hearing anything that she would term as inspirational since her mother was alive, but something about the simplicity of Paul’s statement had managed to inspire her. That ability not to over-complicate matters—it was a skill Gaia was sorely lacking. She’d spent so many hours running and rerunning situations in her head, and it only led to more confusion. Ed wasn’t Ed. Sam wasn’t Sam. Her father had disappeared again. But maybe she just missed them. All of them. The way they used to be. Maybe it didn’t go much deeper than that. Maybe. I
n any event, Gaia felt the tightness in her chest beginning to evaporate. She shifted position, relaxing against the bars at the base of the bed.

  “So,” she said, looking at Paul across the distance of his mattress. “You know the rules. Now we have to do something completely random. Something totally unexpected.”

  “Right,” Paul concurred, leaning slightly toward Gaia. He locked eyes with her as the room fell quiet. “But can we do it tomorrow? I’m exhausted. You know, it’s, um. . . it’s been a while since my last knife fight.”

  Gaia smiled. “Sure. But what are we going to do tomorrow?”

  “Well...I’m playing football with some guys in the park. We do it every week down the hill from the carousel. Do you want to go? That’s reasonably random.”

  “Football, hmmm?” She tapped a nail against her chin and thought about this for a minute. Two words jumped to mind: safe violence. Her smile widened. “Definitely.”

  Paul grinned. “Ten-thirty tomorrow morning, then. It’s a date—or not a date, but. . . an agreed-upon time of gathering—”

  “Right,” Gaia interrupted, feeling an odd tingle of energy. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay.” Paul’s grin relaxed into a peaceful smile. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she said.

  She slid off Paul’s bed and left his room, feeling surprisingly content. This brother thing definitely had its advantages. When she stepped back into her room, she actually found she was on a mission. Paul had inspired her to un complicate things. He’d given her a sudden burst of motivation. She felt a pressing need to cast out the excess bullshit and remember what actually mattered to her and, more important, who actually mattered to her. And one person in particular had been troubling her all day. She flipped on Mary’s computer and logged on to her e-mail to set things straight.

  From: gaia13@alloymail.com

  To: shred@alloymail.com

  Time: 11:41 P.M.

  Re: Just ignore me

  Ed,

  I want to apologize for this morning. I don’t really know what happened. You were the only reason I even bothered coming to school. I guess the trouble started when I came to see my friend Ed, and instead I saw this tall guy who

 

  Ed,

  I don’t know how to say this, but I saw you today, and I missed seeing you in a wheelchair

 

  Ed,

  Sorry about this morning. It seems I’m just not very comfortable with a walking Ed Fargo

 

  Gaia smacked her hand down on the desk.

  This wasn’t working. She hated every word she was putting on the page. How selfish could she be? Ed, I’d prefer if you didn’t have a miraculous recovery because it’s making me uncomfortable. Talk about narcissism. That was just plain sick. Besides, what was making her so uncomfortable, anyway? It wasn’t like the lack of a wheelchair made him a complete stranger. What if he’d grown a beard? Would he still be Ed with a beard? Of course he would. What the hell was her problem? And here she was overcomplicating again. She had to keep it simple. She had to say what was important and nothing else.

  From: gaia13@alloymail.com

  To: shred@alloymail.com

  Time: 11:41 P.M.

  Re: Just ignore me

  Ed,

  I’m sorry about this morning. I can’t explain what I felt, other than that I was suddenly looking at a stranger

 

  She flipped off the computer and stepped away, squirming with discomfort. She couldn’t write a satisfactory e-mail. She was obviously incapable of keeping her apology simple. There probably was a reason for that, though—and it annoyed her. She couldn’t keep it simple because the trouble between her and Ed was complicated.

  ED JABBED HIS BEDROOM DOOR OPEN with the base of his right crutch, adding one more black smudge to the postmodern collage that now covered the bottom of the door. He’d actually mastered the routine of getting into his room by himself. There was a four-step process. Step 2: Poke the door closed with left crutch. Step 3: Throw both crutches onto bed, simultaneously falling down into desk chair. Step 4: Writhe in agony as pain shoots up spine for next five minutes.

  Annoying Irony

  Welcome back to the world of bipeds, Fargo!

  And so it went. Ed gritted his teeth, his eyes tightly closed (as they always were during step 4), wondering what his testosterone-addled physical therapist, Brian, would have to say about this latest accomplishment. Probably something along the lines of: “You rock, baby! You da man! You da man! You’re doin’ it for Kid Rock and Freddy Durst and all the playaz!”

  Ed shook his head. He managed a miserable laugh between tortured gasps, and gradually the pain in his back began to recede. At least the pain took his mind off Heather. He slumped back against the seat cushion and opened his eyes. His room was cold and still, offering no comfort. The harsh overhead light bore down on him. Now, in the wake of the pain, came another sensation he’d been dreading far more. The sensation of guilt.

  He didn’t get it. Everything that she’d said made Ed feel like the biggest bastard on planet Earth, and most of it wasn’t true. Or at least half of it wasn’t true. The part about blaming her for the accident sure as hell was about as far from truth as a person could get. Honestly, at this point he really had no idea what was true and what wasn’t. Or maybe he was lying to himself about that . . .

  Gaia could help him. Gaia could talk him through this. She could tell him that he was an idiot, and Heather was a self-absorbed bitch, and could he please not call her anymore so late? He tried to smile again at his own lame joke, but he couldn’t. Fantasizing about a conversation about Gaia only added to his guilt.

  But that didn’t make any sense. Why shouldn’t he want to talk to Gaia? She was his best friend. He glanced at his computer, at his tired and distorted reflection in the blank screen. Right. She was his best friend. He jabbed his finger at the power button, then logged on to his e-mail and began to write.

  From: shred@alloymail.com

  To: gaia13@alloymail.com

  Time: 12:06 A.M.

  Re: Just a suggestion . . .

  G$—

  Could we maybe just pretend you didn’t turn evil this morning? Because right now, I am what is commonly referred to as “a friend in need.” We don’t even need to talk about that strange

 

  G$—

  I know it must be a little weird to see me on my feet. Was that the problem this morning? That was why you were acting so weird, right? Because I felt this

 

  Gaia,

  Heather thinks that I am in love with you. And I think she’s

 

  Ed shoved his chair away from the computer. If Gaia read one of those e-mails, she’d never talk to him again. Of course, that might solve some of his problems: it would make his life a hell of a lot less complicated. He stared at the monitor for some indefinite period of time—a minute or five; he wasn’t really sure. He had no idea what to do next, either. Finally he blew out a long sigh of resignation, pulled his chair back to the desk, and typed something more appropriate.

  From: shred@alloymail.com

  To: heatherg@alloymail.com

  Time: 12:21 A.M.

  Re: Tomorrow

  Heather,

  Tonight was awful. Let’s never have another night like tonight. You said what you had to say; now I just wanted to say three things:

  1. I’ve never blamed you for my accident.

  2. I am not in love with Gaia Moore.

  3. I love you.

  Do something with me tomorrow, okay? Or, I guess now it’s today. Let’s hang out.

  It doesn’t have to be this bad, Heather. It certainly couldn’t be any worse than tonight.

  Love,

  Ed

  From: heatherg@alloymail.com

  To: shred@alloymail.com

  Time: 12:45 A.M.

  Re: Tomorrow

  I think
maybe you’re right. I went home feeling horrible. I don’t ever want another night like tonight either, Ed.

  Maybe we can sort of start from scratch.

  I’m going to a Hamptons reunion brunch at Sarabeth’s tomorrow (I mean today). Put on something nice and meet me.

  And don’t worry, Chad Carmel will not be there, and neither will any of those people. Trust me, I’ve checked with Carrie about fifteen times.

  Pick me up at 12:30. I promise to be nice if you will.

  Do you own a pair of khakis?

  Love,

  Heather

  Ed blinked at the screen. He wasn’t sure quite what he felt. All he knew was that the feeling was very unpleasant. But he kept returning to one thought. The annoying irony of his situation had not escaped him. Not at all.

  Regaining the use of his legs had left him completely paralyzed.

  THE MOMENT JOSH OPENED HIS dorm-room door—with that twisted smile pasted on his chiseled face—was one of the happiest Sam had enjoyed in days. Because in that moment Sam was finally able to live out a long-standing dream: to remove the smile with his fist.

  White Light, Red Light

  Josh never even saw the punch coming. His eyes were heavily lidded. It was late, and he was obviously tired, so he wasn’t quite as guarded as he should have been. And as Sam’s arm flew toward Josh’s chin in the expanded silence, Sam soaked in every aspect of his tormentor’s disguise. The droopy boxers. The ratty T-shirt. The mussed hair. It was so perfect, so ingenious. Josh Kendall was a college student. There was no way anybody would be able to mistake him for anything else. And within a matter of seconds he’d be a dead—

  Thwack!

  Josh’s legs crumpled the instant of impact. “Ow!” Sam howled.