Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2)
Page 21
“You’re absolutely right, Miss Price,” I said. “Jacobean audiences found Helena too forward in her comments about sexuality and her frustration with the lack of control over her own fate.”
Aubrey’s tired eyes came alive with enthusiasm. “Helena does seem to set a precedent for Ibsen’s heroines if you think about it. Even Strindberg’s and Chekhov’s female protagonists. Shakespeare was so ahead of his time in his thinking.”
This was another thing I’d miss about tutorials—seeing Aubrey’s mind ticking over during these discussions. This was the last time I’d get to watch her in action.
“So, Shakespeare’s not a misogynist, Miss Price?” I asked.
She shook her head, eyes sparkling mischievously.
“I’m so glad he’s off the hook. And you make some excellent points.” I looked around the table. “That’s one of the reasons you don’t see many staged productions of this play. In the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries, Helena was a very difficult character to sell. Many critics still don’t buy the way the king and the countess characterize her as wholly virtuous given the things she says and the way she uses the bed-trick to fool Bertram into consummating their marriage. She’s a perplexing character, especially on paper.”
“Daniel, are you saying that this play isn’t fully realized until it reaches the stage?” Aubrey looked at me with a cheeky grin. I’d never forget this line—the basis for our first clash of opinions.
“Yes, Miss Price. I suppose I am saying that, and this time I don’t think I’ll let you talk me out of it. It takes a very fine actress to reconcile the two distinct aspects of Helena’s nature—her quiet virtue and her willfulness and sensuality—but, done properly, the play works much better on the stage than on the page.”
Aubrey may have had a ready rebuttal, but she didn’t have a chance to share it because Shawn elbowed Cara and said, “Hey, Cara, it’s that thing you were talking about yesterday. What did you call it?”
Cara scowled at him. Apparently she didn’t want to share. I wondered if she’d shown him her paper. She’d made some insightful sociological observations about the relationships in All’s Well. Did I dare ask? Oh, what the hell. Last chance to have a little fun.
“Something interesting you could share, Miss Switzer?”
“Go on, Cara. Tell him,” Shawn said. “It is interesting.”
“Well.” She looked reluctantly around the table. “From a sociological angle, you’d call it the Madonna-whore complex,” she said.
“Hey, I’ve heard of that,” Vince said. “A lady in the streets, but a freak in the sheets.”
I shot him a look. He really seemed to enjoy courting castration. Trina sat up. She ignored Vince’s comment and looked at Cara.
“Right! Feminists argue that it’s wrong for women to reject their sexuality because it validates the societal view that a woman who is comfortable with her sexuality is a slut, right?”
“Yeah, basically,” Cara said. “Sexuality is one of the layers that should be, like, integrated into her personality. If you say a woman can only be sexy in private but she should be all lady-like in public, that creates this thing, it’s a sociology term, a bifurcation of her identity, so she can never really be herself.”
Around the table, jaws dropped as, one by one, Cara’s classmates struggled to come to grips with the fact that she’d just used a couple of four-syllable words and seemed to know what they meant.
I wasn’t surprised. We’d had several discussions about sociology in the last couple of weeks, and I was becoming aware that the girl wasn’t stupid—she just didn’t intuitively understand Shakespeare and exacerbated the problem by disguising her literary ineptness as ditziness. But Julie and Aubrey were stunned, looking as if Cara had just told them that the world was flat after all.
I glanced at Shawn. He was giving Vince an I-told-you-so look. Perhaps he’d also discovered that Cara’s brain wasn’t actually pea-sized. Cara clamped her mouth shut, seeming to have surprised herself in addition to everyone around the table.
“That’s a really astute comment, Miss Switzer,” I said. “This sociological lens you’ve been using to examine Shakespeare’s works is an effective analytical approach. And, yes, a feminist lens works really well here too, Miss Collins.”
“I don’t know about all that,” Lindsay said. “All I know is the characters are weird. I don’t get why Helena wants to be with that Bertram guy even after he’s so nasty to her. She’s sorta lame.”
“It’s no different than a girl having a major crush on a guy and seeing past all his faults because she’s so infatuated,” Julie said.
Lindsay shrugged. “Whatever. I still think it sucks that he’s forced to marry her and it’s not till the very end that he sees that she might be worth his time.”
Cara turned to look at Lindsay. “Sometimes guys are so dense, they totally can’t even see what’s right in front of them.”
Lindsay smiled and raised an eyebrow. Shawn rolled his eyes and swatted Cara’s hand. How entertaining. Out came the dirty laundry, and thank the Lord, for once it wasn’t mine.
“And they had sex for the first time without him even knowing it was her! He honestly thought he was with that Diana woman. That’s the most unromantic thing ever,” Cara said, this time responding, true to form, by seizing on the romance angle.
“Maybe that’s why she’s still into him at the end, though,” Vince suggested. “She does say he was great in bed.”
“God, shut up, Vince! You’re such a knob,” Trina complained.
“Well, she does,” he protested indignantly.
Trina had apparently reached the end of her tether. Her face was almost as bright as her magenta hair. Maybe the pent-up stress of the week was getting to me, but I couldn’t help bursting out laughing. Everyone turned to me, as surprised by my outburst as they’d been by Cara earlier.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Phew, stressful week. I needed that.” I rubbed my eyes and looked at Vince. “Comic relief is definitely your forte. Oddly enough, you have a point. If anyone wants to verify Mr. Costa’s claims, check Act Four, Scene Four. Helena definitely enjoyed consummating the marriage.”
Vince smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, Trina. Guess I’m not talking outta my butt this time.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. I looked at my watch and scanned the table. There was plenty of time left, but the tone of the discussion had gone downhill, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get things back on track, even if I wanted to.
“I know you’re all stressed with final papers and exams coming up. What I’d suggest at this point is getting your notes in order and making sure you set up an appointment with either Professor Brown or me if you need to work anything through before the exam. Would everyone be okay with wrapping up early?”
Of course there was a unanimous nodding of heads and murmured assent.
“In that case, let me just say it’s been a really interesting semester. I know it’s been difficult, with the loss of Mary, but I’ve enjoyed my time with you and learned a great deal through this process. I wish you all good luck in your final exams and whatever the future brings.”
I expected them to all start packing up and pushing their chairs back, but no one moved. Aubrey and Julie looked at each other. A few people glanced over at Cara. She stood up self-consciously.
“Um, before we go, Daniel, there’s something I wanted to say. It’s kinda on behalf of all of us.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small wrapped gift with a card attached. “We got you something. Well, my mom got it, but we all chipped in, and everyone signed the card, and, well, yeah, it’s just to say thanks. We had a good semester. And you helped us a lot. Well, I know you helped me a lot. So, yeah.”
She walked around the table to hand me the present. I was utterly shocked.
“Thank you.” I took the gift and sat there feeling awkward and strangely ill. “This is, well, unexpected. Should I open it now?”
I shook my head and looked up and down the table. Aubrey smiled encouragingly, probably sensing how overwhelmed I was. Suddenly I realized that this is what she’d been keeping from me—the secret that, as a student, she hadn’t wanted me to know. This is what Cara had been up to all week. Collecting donations.
“Everyone, this is…really…very nice. Thank you so much. And thank you for organizing this, Miss Switzer. I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, since you’re speechless, can I make a request?” Julie asked.
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“Could you lose the whole last name bit before we go?”
I laughed. “Too much?” I looked around at the vociferous nodding. “My apologies. This was my first real experience as a teacher’s assistant. The formality seemed like a good idea at the time. I suppose there was as much of a learning curve here for me as there was for all of you. So, yes, Julie, I think I can oblige.”
“Ah, thank you, that’s so much better!” Julie sighed and relaxed back in her chair, eliciting laughter from her peers. Aubrey clasped Julie’s hand tightly and smiled.
“Oh, and speaking of my failings.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a large manila envelope. “I almost forgot. The English department has asked you to fill out these questionnaires to give me some feedback on my performance as TA. It’s not mandatory, and they’re anonymous, but if you’d like to complete one and bring it to class on Monday, Professor Brown will collect them. Try to be nice. Think about all those good things Cara just said, okay?”
I handed the pile to Neil, who took one and passed on the remaining sheets. Everyone packed up as the pile of questionnaires traveled around the table. One by one, people wished me a good weekend, and Neil actually shook my hand before exiting. At the door, Aubrey subtly bobbed her head at the hallway—an invitation to leave together. I shook my head, just as inconspicuously, and she sighed in frustration.
She tossed her bag over her shoulder and reluctantly followed Julie toward the door. The only people left were Cara, Shawn, Lindsay, and Vince. I interrupted them as they headed out.
“Cara? May I have a word?”
“Sure. I’ll catch up with you guys back at the Kap house.”
“You want me to wait out here for you?” Shawn offered.
“No, that’s okay. Go ahead.”
She waved them off then turned to look at me.
“I wanted to reiterate my gratitude,” I said. “For the gift. It was very thoughtful.”
“It’s okay. Everyone said it was a good idea. No one needed to be talked into it or anything like that.”
“You’ve made a lot of progress this term. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
“I meant what I said before. I know you went out of your way to help me. I’m sure I was starting to, like, get on your nerves or something. This stuff doesn’t come easy for me like it does for people like Shawn, or Aubrey…”
Aubrey. Her name hung in the air between us.
“Yes, well, I suppose that makes your achievement all the more satisfying. You’ve, ah, you’ve worked hard for it.” I was struggling to speak coherently.
She shrugged. “Thanks.”
She watched me expectantly while I tried not to betray my mental gymnastics, sorting through the potential consequences of what I was about to do.
Oh, fuck it.
I opened the flap of my bag and took out the folder.
“Look, Miss Switzer—Cara. I’ve been thinking about your essay. I hope you realize I had no intention of showing it to anyone. In fact, there’s no need for me to hang on to it. So, here.” I pulled the essay from the folder and handed it to her. “You can have it back.”
She held it in her hands, looking down at it for a moment as a voice in the back of my mind shrieked, “Noooooooo, what have you done?” But it was too late. It—whatever it was—my fate perhaps—was in her hands now. Literally.
She rolled it up and curled her hand around it. “Thanks. That does make me feel a bit better. Well, I guess I should go,” she said, taking a few steps backward. “Have a good weekend.”
“You too,” I barely managed to choke out.
I spent the rest of the afternoon castigating myself for giving Cara her essay back, but as I sat at my desk that evening, gazing at the engraved pen set, I couldn’t help thinking my worries were completely unfounded. Would she have gone to all the effort of collecting money and buying me a gift if she was harboring ill will against me?
When I opened my email account and found a message from Aubrey—the one I’d been waiting almost a week for—all thoughts of Cara evaporated immediately. I knew as soon as I read the subject line what was in store for me:
From: Miss_V
To: Jung Willman
Date: Fri, Apr 17, 8:47:56 PM
Subject: “Wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?”
Okay, mister. You seemed a little melancholy today at the end of class, and I decided you must need a little pick me up. So, grab that CD, make yourself comfy, and open the attachment. I hope you enjoy listening to this as much as I enjoyed the one you made for me.
Love & hot, wet kisses,
Your Poppet
After being momentarily distracted by the thought of Aubrey’s kisses, I found the disc and inserted it into the CD drive of my laptop.
I opened the attachment and flaked out on the couch, alternately closing my eyes to listen to the songs and reading the notes she’d included. Her words took me on a little journey through our relationship thus far, this time from her perspective.
Listening to that CD was easily the best seventy-five minutes of my week. The songs she’d picked were a perfect escape. In fact, the message she’d written to accompany the last song filled me with so much hope that I could barely contain my desire to steal her away somewhere.
I love Ingrid Michaelson, Daniel, but I may regret ending the CD with the song “Overboard.” In fact, I already feel my stoic pride-or whatever the hell it is that makes me so stubborn and determined to do everything for myself-rearing its ugly head and trying to beat me back down. I’m choosing to ignore it. Like Ingrid says in the song, you can catch me, Daniel. I will let you. That’s how much I love you. I hope you understand the significance of those words and how hard they are for me to say.
All my love, Aubrey.
The CD finished. The words ended. I wanted both to go on forever. Now I understood why Aubrey had said the CD I’d made for her had been the best gift she’d ever received.
You can catch me.
Did this mean that she would let me help her? Allow me to make her life easier? I snatched my phone off the coffee table, determined to get clarification, but as I passed my thumb across the display, I realized the inadvisability of doing that. This admission wouldn’t have been easy. No. I wouldn’t push the issue. I’d let things be.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t call her, though. If she was going to let me catch her, it wouldn’t hurt to remind her that I was there, right beside her, behind her, wherever she needed me to be.
Aubrey
Chapter 21
Passions and Plots
O world, thy slippery turns!…so, fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep…
(Coriolanus, Act IV, Scene 4)
JULIE PUT HER HAND ON MINE and squeezed it gently. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just wish Daniel would get here already.”
I looked over her shoulder at the courtyard do
ors and checked the time again.
“He’ll be here soon. I doubt he’ll drag this last tutorial out, especially knowing you’re up here waiting.”
“You’re right.”
I sat back in my chair and tried to enjoy the sun on my face.
“What exactly did you tell him in your email this morning?” she asked.
“I just said I had some good news and some weird news. I didn’t want to freak him out by saying bad news…”
I lost my train of thought as Daniel emerged through the doors and began walking across the courtyard. He was wearing his sunglasses and had a jacket slung over his shoulder, sexy as hell.
“God, I love those jeans,” I whispered.
Julie smiled. “Can’t say I blame you. He definitely puts the ‘tight ass’ in TA.”
I snorted with laughter. “Don’t I know it. He makes my ovaries ache.”
“That sounds like PMS to me.” She chuckled.
I swatted her leg, shifting my chair around so that Daniel could sit between us. He put a take-out cup of coffee on the table and stowed his bag under his seat.
“Do I dare ask what you two are giggling about?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not a good idea.”
“Yes, I get that distinct impression. Well, this was a great idea.” He scanned the Hart House quad. “What a beautiful day.”
“Yeah, Julie thought it might be quieter out here, too,” I explained.
“Good point.” He sipped his coffee and looked back and forth between us. “So? How do you feel? That’s it. No more classes.”
“I don’t think it’s sunk in yet,” I said.
“It will. When you realize you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing with your life, it’ll sink in fast.”
Julie cocked her head.
“What?” he asked.
“You and the F-bombs. It’s so not you.”
“Julie,” I said, patting her hand. “He’s a foul-mouthed horn dog. Might as well accept that and move on.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, tilting his head and smiling graciously.