He didn’t say anything as she turned on the water and started washing a bowl, but when she placed it, clean, on the counter, he picked it up and began drying it.
They worked that way for a few minutes, Victoria washing and Jack drying. The silence between them grew until Victoria wondered if it was weird that neither of them was saying anything.
“You really don’t have to stay,” she said.
Jack just held out his hand for the plate she’d rinsed, took it, and dried it off. Victoria felt herself ever so slightly relaxing. There was something nice about standing next to each other, washing dishes, not talking. It was so domestic, almost like they were married. The thought made Victoria laugh.
“What?” asked Jack. He bumped her gently with his hip.
“I…nothing,” she said. Imagining telling him that she’d been laughing because she’d pictured their being married made her laugh again.
“Okay, am I doing something wrong?” asked Jack. He held the bowl out in front of him so she could see how he was drying it. “Is this not how you dry a dish?”
“No,” she said, smiling at his profile. “You’re perfect.” Suddenly she realized what she’d just said, and quickly added, “I mean, it’s perfect. It’s…How you’re drying the dishes is…It’s great.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that,” he joked, turning to look at her.
Their eyes met, and they stood staring at each other for what seemed like ages.
“I…” she began, but couldn’t think of anything to follow. She could feel Jack standing just a few inches away from her; she could see the dark gray of his eyes, the pale red of his cheeks. Jack leaned toward her. He moved so slowly it was almost as if he were standing still, but then his soft lips were pressing gently against hers, and she was closing her eyes and kissing him back. It was the most delicious feeling she’d ever experienced, but almost as soon as he’d started, he’d stopped.
Her eyes flew open. Why was he stopping? Had she done something wrong? She looked at him, and when he stayed where he was, not speaking, not moving away from her, not making a move to kiss her more, she realized his light kiss had been a question.
Is this okay?
She couldn’t find the words to answer, but she knew she didn’t need words. Instead, she dropped the measuring cup she’d been washing and raised herself up on her tiptoes. She heard the cup hit the bottom of the sink and had a second to be grateful that it was metal and not glass, and then her lips met his, and they were pressed against each other, his arms around her waist, her hands on the back of his neck, the bowl he’d been drying clattering against the kitchen floor.
Yes, said their kisses. Yes. Yes. Yes.
“WHAT TIME IS IT?” asked Jane. “Maybe Victoria has an idea.” She glanced over her shoulder to check the clock. It was just after five thirty.
“She said she’d call me back as soon as she finished.” Natalya lay on the floor of Jane’s room, studying the ceiling, where, despite the early evening light streaming through the big open window, it was still possible to make out a few of the nearly invisible, glow-in-the-dark stars Jane’s mother had stuck to the ceiling years ago. “Anything?”
Jane stared at the screen on her phone. “I guess her baking club still isn’t over.” She typed a text. Call as soon as u r done. “I wish she didn’t have to go to that dinner with her parents tonight.”
Rolling onto her stomach, Natalya agreed, then added, “I wish I had something to wear tomorrow.”
Jane was sitting at her desk—a massive Victorian rolltop with dozens of cubbies, drawers, and shelves—spinning back and forth on her rolling wooden chair. When they were little, the girls had loved to play jewelry store, putting Nana’s collection of costume jewelry into the different spaces, then taking turns admiring the pieces as if they were customers who might be interested in purchasing them. Now both the jewelry and the desk belonged to Jane.
“What about Marie Curie?” Jane offered, spinning to a stop. “She’s a scientist, you’re a scientist.” Lately it seemed as if she and Natalya were always a little uncomfortable talking to each other without Victoria; Jane hated the weirdness between them. Even though, as far as she was concerned, Natalya cared way too much about this party and her new friends, Jane wanted to help her figure out something good to wear. Maybe if she helped Nat solve her costume crisis, everything between them would go back to normal.
Natalya groaned and raised herself up on her elbows just enough to look at Jane. “Have ya seen Marie Curie?” When Jane shook her head, Natalya dropped back down. “Let’s just say she probably didn’t drive the guys in her lab wild with desire.”
Jane didn’t say anything, and for a long minute the only sound was the noise of the chair’s wheels rolling back and forth on the ancient Persian carpet.
“Any ideas?” asked Nat.
“I’m thinking,” answered Jane. It was true. She was thinking. But not about Natalya’s costume. There was only one thing on her mind these days.
“I know!” Natalya sat up with excitement. “What if we go as cats. Just…black tights, black noses. It’s simple. It’s classic.” When Jane didn’t answer, Natalya sighed and lay back down. “I know, it’s totally middle school.”
Jane had to tell someone. She’d considered telling her mom, but cool as her mother was, she would not be psyched to hear about Mr. Robbins and her. Maybe if Jane were in college and he were her professor, her mother would accept a relationship between them. But not now.
Would Natalya understand? Victoria would absolutely freak. But maybe Nat wouldn’t. Hesitantly, her voice little more than a whisper, Jane said, “Nat?”
Natalya had her chin on her hands and was studying the worn weave of the ancient rug. “Mmmm?”
“Can I tell you something?” She was almost as frightened as she’d been at her audition.
“Mmmhmm.”
“I think I like Mr. Robbins.” As soon as the words were out, she felt simultaneously relieved and even more terrified than she’d been before. What if Nat laughed?
Natalya sat up and looked at Jane, a puzzled expression on her face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Jane sighed. Did she really have to explain? “What do you mean what do I mean? I mean I like Mr. Robbins.” She threw her hands out to the sides, to show the magnitude of what she was trying to express.
For a second, Natalya didn’t say anything. And then, “Like, like like him?”
Jane nodded but didn’t speak. With her eyes, she pleaded with Natalya to understand what she meant.
“Jane, he’s a grown-up.” Natalya spoke slowly and carefully, as though a great deal depended on Jane’s understanding the words she chose.
“Aaaand…”
On her butt, Natalya scooted toward Jane’s chair. “And he’s not just a grown-up, he’s your teacher.”
Jane gave a little wail of frustration and spun all the way around in her chair. Why was Natalya torturing her? “Could you please tell me something I don’t already know?”
Natalya hesitated. “I just mean…I’m not saying you can’t have a crush on him, or—”
Was that what Natalya thought she was describing? A crush? “It’s not a crush.” Jane practically spat out the word.
“Sorry!” Natalya held out her hand as if Jane were a wild animal she needed to pacify. “I just. I mean, are you…You’re not going to…You’re not going to do anything, are you?”
Jane shrugged and looked off into the distance, as though she were seeing a place or a time somewhere other than the moment and the room they were sitting in. “I don’t know.” She wanted to add, I don’t know what to do, but she didn’t.
Natalya studied her friend for a long minute. “Jane.”
“Yeah?”
Natalya looked down and traced the grain in the arm of the chair. “Remember when I tried to teach you chess?”
Jane did. She’d been a hopeless player—every time Natalya explained why something Jane did would cost
her a piece just a few moves in the future, Jane would shake her head, amazed. How can anyone think that far ahead? I just deal with things as they come up.
Natalya raised her eyes and watched until it was clear from her friend’s expression that Jane remembered what she was talking about. Then she spoke. “I think this is like that. I think…I think you need to think a few moves ahead.”
Jane pushed herself out of her chair and walked over to her closet.
Natalya didn’t understand.
No one could understand.
“I must have something in here that you can wear,” Jane declared.
“Jane…” Natalya began.
Jane opened her closet door. “What?” Her voice was distracted. There was no point in talking about it anymore. She should have known better than to bring the whole thing up in the first place.
Natalya didn’t say anything for a minute, then her eyes glanced down at her silent phone. “That cooking class is really taking forever,” she observed.
Jane nodded, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed that her attempt to change the subject had worked. “I guess they’re making something really delicious.”
HAD HER FEET touched the ground once since she’d left the Morningside kitchen? Victoria’s hand still felt warm from where Jack had squeezed it good-bye as they’d parted ways at Amsterdam Avenue, he to head south, she to head north.
“You aren’t by any chance free to go hear some music tonight?” he’d asked. “Because Pony is playing a late set at the Pea Bar. They don’t start until midnight, but it’s going to be great.”
She laughed, partly because she couldn’t believe Jack had just asked her to go out with him, partly at the idea of telling her parents she’d be going out at midnight. “Um, I think I have to take a rain check.”
He nodded and squeezed her fingers. “Well, I won’t take it personally.”
She squeezed his in return. “Don’t,” she said, then sailed across Seventy-ninth Street with the light.
When she turned onto her block, her face was still plastered with a smile. Did she look deranged? She might look deranged, walking along and smiling at nothing. She tried to make the corners of her mouth turn down, but it was impossible. She felt like that character in Brigadoon, the musical she and Natalya had gone to with Jane and Nana for Jane’s tenth birthday. It’s almost like being in love.
From the corner she saw a crowd gathered around her building’s awning, and her smile dimmed slightly. The election was a week from Tuesday, and Satan was obsessed with keeping her parents in the public eye. Those were the words he used, In the public eye. The phrase grossed Victoria out—every time he said it, she imagined having something in her eye. But Satan couldn’t get enough. Her mom had done a photo shoot for this week’s New York magazine, and tomorrow she had to go to a nursing home with her parents so they could be seen chatting with the old people. Plus there was tonight’s dinner, the last fund-raiser before the election. Ugh. Whenever she said hello to people at one of her dad’s fund-raisers, she felt them evaluating her worth, trying to decide if her family were something they wanted to buy.
Her phone buzzed and she looked down. It was from Jack. Just so u know, I m thinking about u. If u rnt thinking about me, I feel v lame. Laughing, she texted back, u r not lame. She saw she’d missed three texts from Natalya and Jane. And she’d missed a bunch of calls, probably from them, too. They were going to freak when she told them about Jack.
Victoria was two doors down from her building, still reading the texts from Jack and Natalya and Jane, when a voice shouted, “There she is!” Glancing up, she saw that the crowd outside her building was looking her way. She heard the now-familiar whirr of a camera taking multiple shots.
Okay, this was really weird. The campaign released her parents’ schedule every morning, so she’d figured these photographers had wanted a shot of her mom and dad all glammed up for an evening out, but now they were turning their cameras on her? Talk about a slow news cycle. She kept walking toward her door, but suddenly the crowd surged, and what felt like dozens of people were shoving their cameras in her face, calling her name.
“Victoria! Over here! Victoria!”
Within seconds, the whole pack had taken up the cry, and Victoria felt the crowd close around her, pushing her. She couldn’t breathe, they were swarming her, she was going to fall.
Suddenly she felt a strong hand under her elbow, and she was being guided toward the door of her building as a voice said, “Coming through. Get back. Get back behind the barriers.” For a second she thought it was her dad, but then she looked up into the familiar face of Frank, the doorman. He pushed his way through the crowd and into the lobby. As soon as the door had closed on the bright flashes and loud voices, he turned to her.
“You okay, honey?”
Victoria realized she was shaking. Someone had pulled at the sleeve of her sweater hard enough to rip it. Her stomach was in knots. Could something horrible have happened to her father? Sometimes she heard her parents discussing a threat that had been made against him or the family. When she asked, they’d always brushed away her concerns, assuring her the family was completely safe. But what if…
Her mouth was dry, and she barely managed to whisper, “Is my dad—”
Frank smiled and patted her arm reassuringly. “They’re all upstairs. I’ll buzz and tell them you’re on your way.”
Victoria wanted to ask what was going on, but Frank nudged her toward the elevator, so she crossed the lobby, tucking her hair behind her ears. The lurch in her stomach as the elevator ascended had, she knew, nothing to do with its climb.
Before she could even put her key in the lock, the door flew open to reveal her mother wearing a long green dress, an unfamiliar, frightened expression on her face. Behind her mom, her father stood at the dining room table, the bow tie of his tuxedo untied, his arms crossed. On his right sat Julie, the communications director. The tiny, tense smile she gave Victoria was a faded replica of the huge grin with which she normally greeted her. On her father’s other side stood Satan, who stared at Victoria as though he wished she were dead.
“Victoria, what is going on? Why didn’t you return our calls?” her father yelled across the space between them. “Where have you been?”
“I was at baking club!” Victoria was so eager to prove her innocence she practically tripped over the words. “I told you about it!” Had they found out who she’d been at the class with? Could someone know what she and Jack had been doing in the kitchen less than an hour ago? Satan’s warning boomed in her brain. Anything you say or do will be held against your father.
What had she been thinking? How could she have been so stupid as to make out with a boy in the kitchen of her school?
Her father’s tight-lipped expression didn’t change, but even from the foyer, Victoria could see a flicker of what looked like relief pass over his features.
“Victoria,” her mother began, putting her hand on her daughter’s wrist, “we need to ask you about something, and we need you to be scrupulously honest about it. Do you understand?”
Victoria could feel herself beginning to freak out. Were her parents having her followed? No one had been in the kitchen with Jack and her—she was sure of that. Had someone seen them walking out of the building together holding hands?
She followed her mother into the dining room. Her dad, Julie, and Satan looked at her as she approached, and something about the way their eyes raked her up and down made her feel as if she were naked.
“Victoria, do you have an explanation for this?” Her father’s face was red, the anger in his voice barely contained. As he spoke he held something in her direction.
The top page was a fax cover sheet with a hastily scrawled message on it. J—FYI, you’re going to need to do some damage control on this one. Also, you owe me BIG-time. If it gets out who you got this from, I’m toast. —FS
J could be Julie, but Victoria had no idea who FS was or how this fax had anythi
ng to do with her. She flipped to the next page and gasped. It was a copy of a photograph of her and Jack. They were both smiling, and Jack was giving a thumbs-up. Victoria was wearing her foxy lady T-shirt, and in her hands was a condom-clad banana.
Victoria felt the lemon meringue she’d sampled all afternoon rising in her throat, and she worked hard to swallow it down. “Oh my god,” she whispered. Then she looked up at the ring of faces bearing down on her. “What is this?”
Was it a flyer someone had put up at school? Could it possibly have been slipped under their apartment door?
It was Satan who spoke. “It’s the cover of tomorrow’s New York Mirror,” he said.
“What?” Victoria swayed slightly, then put her hands on the table to steady herself.
Steven crossed his arms and nailed Victoria with a vicious stare. “Were you at a party recently? A party where no parents were present and there was drinking?”
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
“I…”
“Because guests posted photos of you on Facebook, and those are going to be in the Mirror too.”
Before she could respond, her father said, “I don’t understand, Victoria. Are you sneaking out and going to parties? With this boy?”
“No. Daddy, I—”
Her father cut her off. “When Julie told me about this, I honestly thought it was some kind of joke. I would never, never have expected this from you. You lied to us?!”
“I never lied to you!”
“You never…Victoria, you went to a party without our permission. Do you seriously think that isn’t lying?”
It had all seemed so clear when she was talking to Jane and Victoria about it in her kitchen. They’d definitely used the word “lying,” but somehow they’d agreed it wasn’t lying. Or it was, only it wasn’t the bad kind of lying. But now, with her father and her mother and Satan staring at her, it was impossible to re-create the train of logic that had made it okay to go to the party.
Satan’s cell phone rang. “Steven Mack here,” he barked. He listened briefly, then said more gently, “Oh hi, Tim, thanks for getting back to me.” He placed his hand over the phone and whispered, “It’s the Times.” Julie and both her parents nodded, and Satan walked toward the kitchen, “Mmmhmm. Mmmmhmmm.” He laughed. “Well, not ideal is one way of putting it.”
The Darlings Are Forever Page 18