Nina had never seen Nicholas Lehman look so attractive, so vivid. She stared, looked away. Had she really …? Yes, and with him.… What would freckled Kim, sitting next to her, think if she knew? Oh, but that was vanity, and not pretty vanity. Nina winced for herself. The point was she had avoided him for several days, but resolved nothing. Or perhaps there was nothing to resolve? Perhaps this storm in her head was also vanity?
He stopped her as she left the room. “Miss Bloom. Could you stay for a minute?”
She stood at the corner of his desk, knapsack slung over one shoulder. People streamed past, glancing at her. Did anyone guess? Did something show on her face? Nicholas smiled good-bye to two girls who smiled brilliantly, longingly, back. Was that how she had smiled at him in the beginning?
She focused on a tiny hole in his jacket near the fourth button. The same elbow-patched tweed he’d worn all year. The last student left. He looked at her, said nothing. She stood there, her head slightly bowed, a kind of fatalism, dry and tough as a cactus, settling in her heart. She was worn out by emotion, by the effort of trying to weigh and balance and understand, by the seemingly impossible chore of putting events in order. She wanted things not to be haphazard; to mean, to signify.… But all weekend she had been thinking, What if everything that happened had all been worked out beforehand? What if she had had no choices? What if right now, for instance, she was only playing out her part?
She waited for him to speak. She was tired, too tired. Let him speak first. But what would she say if he were to ask her, point blank, Well, Nina, what about us? How would she answer? We … I … it was … something happened.… Let’s not … Her thoughts ran into each other. She stared at him, wishing he were less attractive, wishing she remembered less of that afternoon.
And now, what was this look he was giving her? A long straight look, a warm smile, and then a nod, a wry set of his mouth as if he were coming to some not-too-surprising conclusion. But finally he only said, “You weren’t in class last week.”
“No. Well … I was studying, in the—in the library.”
“I believe those are the first cuts you’ve taken all year?”
“No. I took one other.”
“Ah, that’s right. Recently, too. Studying then, also, hmm? And here I thought you didn’t want to see me.” Then that engaging smile. He glanced toward the open door. His hand went to his tie, and he straightened it. But still that smile. Was he laughing at her? Did he think she was just a dumb little sophomore, that he could—
Flushing, she rose up on her toes. Look, I admit I’m naive, but I’m not totally dumb. You can’t just … you can’t push me around! I won’t let you. She was making a speech. It roared through her. She forgot how tired she was. Look, it happened, but it didn’t mean anything. I’ve given it lots of thought. It was a—a—an accident! I needed something, and you were there, and it happened. I don’t want to attach any importance to it. It happened. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And now let’s not ever mention it again!
He leaned against the desk. “I want to ask you something.” The windows were open, the faded green shades flapping in the breeze. “What do you think of me?”
“What do I—? I think—” Oh, Nina! Speak up! Tell him about how it just happened; how you’ve thought about it, and you should both let it drop now. Give him that wonderful speech. “You’re … well, very nice, and—and good to work for,” she prattled like an eight-year-old.
He put up his hand, wincing, smiling. “I didn’t want a personality rating. Let me put it another way. To be blunt about it, do you feel I forced the situation? I’m referring, of course, to, ah, ah—do you think I, ah, put pressure on you the other day?”
Was he nervous? Was that possible? Surely not more nervous than she! As if to prove it, she gave an abrupt, strained laugh.
“I want you to be honest with me,” he said. “The whole ah, ah, episode was very delightful, but I wouldn’t want to think that I—”
“No,” she said, “it happened because—”
“I wanted it to happen,” he said. “Did you know that?” He smiled again, but differently; the tinge of self-deprecation had vanished. “Did you know I wanted to make love to you?”
She could only shake her head. Had it all happened, then, because he had made it happen? And where was she in that scene? Where was her grief, her want, her need? Her guilt?
“Surely you knew. Come on, now, you girls today are smart, smarter than that. You knew. Yes? And you were thinking about it for a long time.… As long as I was. Put down that knapsack, will you? You look like you’re ready to take off at any moment.”
She gripped the sack more tightly. It seemed the one thing anchoring her solidly to the ground, to herself. Her thoughts flew in every direction. What did he want? What was he saying? About himself? About her?
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. She wanted to explain it all to him, make him understand. She hadn’t just been standing there like one of those big rubber toys waiting to be knocked over.
“Fault? Fault?” he said impatiently. “Where does that word come in? I didn’t think that was in your generation’s vocabulary. What I was asking, what I was interested in knowing.… When we made love, it was voluntary?”
Voluntary? She nodded uncertainly. Nina Bloom, volunteer army of one. No conscription. No draft. No draft dodging, either. And no dodging what he was leading up to now, leaning in closer to her, one hand warmly on her shoulder.
“So then … I’d like to see you again. You can continue working, your typing.… We won’t change that. And we’ll, ah, ah, work the other out.” He straightened the collar of her shirt, kissed her. Her legs were languid with heat, and she felt an impulse to lean back … to let happen what would happen.… Later on she’d say, Well, it happened, just happened.…
He crossed to the door, shut it quietly. He pulled a shade, touched the shade to quiet it. The room was dim, and he kissed her again.
His hand tangled in her hair, tugged her toward him. Nina’s stomach jerked. She seemed to come awake. His hand in her hair … pulling her toward him. And he was smiling, smiling. “Don’t,” she said. Tried to twist her lips into a sophisticated smile … to say something dazzling and final. “You’re hurting me,” came out in a whine-howl. And then again, stronger, “Don’t!”
“What is it? What—?”
“My hair. My hair,” she said, with the utmost seriousness, as if this word contained all her anger, her panic, her doubt and certainty. She took his hand, freed her hair. They stared seriously at each other. And his lips drew back: a smile like a dog whose bone has been taken away.
“No,” she said. “No, I can’t. I can’t do … that. Again. I won’t.” And she ran. The door banged behind her. Down the empty corridor she ran, her footsteps clattering. God, oh, God, had she said it; had she done it? Humiliated, relieved, she ran all the way home, shaking with reckless laughter.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Hi, adorable.” A girl sitting on a roof yoo-hooed to Mitch. “You’re taken, huh?” She wriggled her toes.
Mitch saluted her. “Sorry.”
In shorts and sandals, Nina and Mitch moved slowly through the masses of students who had come out to worship the sun. Orange Frisbees whirled through the air. Earthworks, a brass band, played on the concrete apron outside the library, the band members, in jeans and torn T-shirts, booming out their challenge to the raucous shouts shooting out of every open window. It was a Saturday in late April, but hot as a day in July. The bare trees shimmered in the heat while beneath them forsythia and magnolia were in shining bloom.
Eating ice-cream cones, Nina and Mitch gawked like a pair of tourists. They passed a couple, both in bikinis, both gleaming with grease, lying side by side, holding metal shields up before their faces with the rapt, intense look of artists. The roofs of every building, the balconies, the steps and lawns, were packed with couples.
Mitch threw away the bottom of his cone. “You look cute, did I
tell you?”
Her hair was in braids, she’d put on dangly earrings and a plaid cap. “You look cute, too.” He was wearing his FERRY’S, THE BIGGEST CLIP JOINT IN TOWN T-shirt and a baseball cap.
“You know what I’ve been thinking? We should get another cat.”
“I really don’t want—” she began, then ahead she saw Nicholas Lehman, in jeans and sunglasses, coming out of the library.
“We could get a breed,” Mitch said. “An Abyssinian, or a Siamese.”
“No,” Nina said. “Not yet.” Professor Lehman walked toward them.
“Siamese are exceptionally smart animals. And beautiful. They have blue eyes.”
And now Nicholas Lehman had seen her, too. “Miss Bloom,” he said coolly.
“Hello, Professor Lehman.” Astonishing how calm she sounded. Astonishing how much she did not want to meet him this way, with Mitch. Two weeks had passed. He never looked at her in class, never spoke to her. She had stopped working for him, but Mitch didn’t know that.
Now, as they were not simply passing each other but had momentarily paused, there seemed nothing to do but introduce him to Mitch. “Professor Lehman, this is my friend, Mitchell Beers.” She got it out quickly. Just as quickly, her face heated up. “Mitch … this is Professor Lehman.”
They shook hands. “Great day, isn’t it, sir?” Mitch said, staring frankly at the other man.
“Splendid. Looks like the whole college has turned out.”
“It certainly does, sir.”
The thump of Earthworks’ drums boomed into the air.
“Well,” Nicholas said with an urbane nod, “nice meeting you.” An awkward moment as they maneuvered to get out of each other’s way. Then, “So that’s the great professor,” Mitch said, as they crossed the street and entered the park.
“Why did you keep calling him sir?” They walked across the spongy grass. “It sounded so funny.” Her face was still warm.
“Oh, I don’t know. Respect for his great age, I suppose.”
Last night she had dreamed that she told Mitch everything and he forgave her. I forgive you, he said. And he kissed her gently. This is just like a movie, she said. But then she had awakened from the dream sad instead of happy. She didn’t understand that.
The park was crowded with families, students, and kids on bikes and skateboards. A man with a baby riding his shoulders passed them. “Mitch, did you see?” Nina turned to smile at the child who clutched his father’s hair.
Past the swings and sandbox, they climbed on an empty seesaw. They swayed in midair for a moment, then Mitch leaned back and the board went down on his side, bobbing Nina into the air. “I haven’t seesawed for years,” he said. His knees were in the air. He hunched forward, pushed his feet off the ground. Up he went. Down she came.
“Oh, lookit ’em, lookit ’em,” two little girls yelled. Mitch stuck out his tongue.
Nina laughed. Odd how you felt things in layers. Laughter, eating an ice cream, bobbing like a kid on a seesaw—all on one layer. On another layer, chewing over that sudden meeting with Nicholas Lehman. God. Her heart had nearly stopped with fright. And her face—it must have gone scarlet. And then still another layer of feeling, like the soggy bottom of a poorly cooked cake: remorse, disappointment in herself. She still hadn’t forgiven herself.
On the seesaw, she pushed off into the air.
Did her dream mean she should tell Mitch so she could be forgiven? Would telling make what had happened on the Oriental rug disappear? The truth an eraser, and her Oh … oh … oh … no more than chalk?
She thought back to the beginning. Someone to love—that was all she had wanted. A longing for that time when everything had been fresh and new and simple seized her.
“Mitch—” She leaned forward. “Mitch, I did it. I did it with Professor Lehman.” The words flew out of her mouth. Her legs flew into the air. Horrified, she gripped the T-bar. She had said it. She had told. What had possessed her? Mitch looked at her, not understanding. Then … understanding. He stood, and Nina crashed to the ground.
He was off the seesaw and away. She caught up with him at a Mr. Nice Cream truck parked at the curb. He bought an Eskimo Pie and ate it in three bites. “You did it?” he said.
“Yes …” Oh, Nina, dumb, naive Nina! How could you think this was going to make everything simple and sweet again?
“Why’d you tell me? Why’d you have to tell me?”
She nodded miserably. A fair question. “I wanted—I wanted to make it okay again. No secrets. And for you to understand. Mitch, I did it when Emmett—”
“I’m not listening, Nina.” He hurried ahead of her. “I don’t want to hear it now.” He turned and walked backward. “I’m just—I’m just—” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I’m just stunned.”
“I know,” she said humbly.
They passed the corner where she’d found Emmett’s body. Was that why she’d done it? That was the reason, wasn’t it? But then, for a moment, she was confused. Did she mean, was that why she had loved with Nicholas Lehman? Or did she mean, was that why she had now told Mitch? And which one was worse?
As they crossed the street a panhandler wearing a torn red T-shirt stepped into her path. “Hey, man, got a buck?” Nina found a quarter in her pocket. “Thank you, sister, you’re a real human being.”
“You don’t like it,” Mitch shouted, “shove it!”
They went into the building, up the stairs. A letter from Nina’s mother was on the floor under the door. “Lynell must have brought it over,” Nina said. “Or maybe Sonia did. Do you think it was Sonia?” It seemed important to know.
Mitch came out of the kitchen with a can of beer. He tipped back his head, gulped beer. “You want?” He held out the can. She drank in quick little sips.
“Maybe I should go home,” she said.
“What do you mean, go home?”
“Go home. Home. For the weekend or—I don’t know. I could get a bus about four o’clock this afternoon.”
“That’s crazy. You’ll go home today and come back when, tomorrow?”
She sat down, finished the beer. “I’d stay a few days. Visit with my family. No classes next week, remember? I could stay home, study for the finals.”
“That’s a rotten idea.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She started pulling clothes out of the closet.
“What’re you doing?” Mitch said. “Stop. Nina, it looks like you’re taking everything you own.… Did you do it a lot?”
“What? No! Once.”
“Once? Just once? Come on!”
“Once,” she said. “Just once. Maybe I shouldn’t come back.”
“Where? To school? What do you mean?”
“No. Here. Not come back here.”
“What do you mean, here?”
“Why do you keep saying ‘What do you mean?’ I mean not come back—here.”
“Not come back to me? Why, Nina? Why?”
“Because I—you know why! Because of … because of what I did.” She was almost in tears. She went into the bathroom and grabbed tampons, toothpaste, and the jar of zit cream they shared. “Is it okay if I take the zit cream?”
“Nina, am I kicking you out? No! Do you know what you’re doing, Nina? You’re punishing me for what you did. I should be the one walking out, but I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t hurt you that way. I wouldn’t walk out on you, and you know why? Because you’re not the only one.”
Sitting on her suitcase, trying to zip it, Nina said, “I’m not the only one what?” Mitch bit his cheeks, as if trying not to laugh, or maybe not to cry.
“You and Lynell,” she said.
He nodded.
“When? Now?”
“No, not now.”
“When? When?”
“You know—before. When I was out of work.”
“Out of work? All those weeks? All that time?”
“What do you mean, all that time? What kind of question—”
�
��I did it once,” she said. “Just once. Just once, Mitch.”
“I’ll give you a medal! I didn’t count. What do you think of that? I did it as much as I could, anytime Lynell was willing. Because I was miserable and I needed something and she—”
The ice cream and the beer were coming up on Nina. She ran into the bathroom and threw up.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Nina didn’t go home. Nor did she, as she briefly thought she might, move out. Move out where? More to the point, move out why? “We both made mistakes,” Mitch said. “Okay, it’s not the end of the world. Let’s not go overboard. I don’t want you to leave, Nina. Look, now we both know. Maybe it’s for the best. We can put it behind us.”
A sensible point of view. They had each made some wrong moves. As in a game of checkers? But in games there was a winner, a loser. Here, as Mitch pointed out, it was a draw. He had done wrong; she had done wrong. Tit for tat. X = Y. Two wrongs didn’t make a right, but surely they cancelled each other out? “We’re wiping the slate clean,” Mitch said. And it was in this spirit that they agreed to give themselves time. How much time they didn’t spell out.
One day, alone in the apartment, Nina called home and spoke to Nancy. “I need to talk to someone.”
“I’m listening,” Nancy said.
“Okay,” Nina said, and stopped. She didn’t know where to start, what she wanted from Nancy, or even how much she wanted to tell.
“Hell-oo?” Nancy said.
Nina put her legs up on the table and, on a long indrawn breath, said, “Nance? Remember I told you about living with Mitch?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it seems … it seems …” Nina sighed, banged her feet to the floor and said, “Nance, I got mixed up with someone else. It just happened once, but I told Mitch, and then—”
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