Someone to Love

by Norma Fox Mazer

  “You told him?” Nancy broke in. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I had to. I couldn’t stand the way I felt. And then he told me he—he did it, too.”

  “Both of you? Both of you got tight with other people?” Nina nodded as if Nancy could see her. “Did you both know you were both doing it?”

  “No!”

  “Well, you never know with folks is my motto. Who was it? Friends?”

  “With him, yes. Me—one of my professors. I thought you could help me figure things out. I haven’t had anyone really to talk to.”

  “Nina. I really appreciate that you—I mean, you know I can’t stand being soppy, but that you came to me, it means something to me, Nina.”

  “I guess what I want is some—advice?” Nina said. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing, maybe just listening.”

  “You said you and Professor—just once?”

  “Yes.”

  “So where’s the big deal? You sound so shook. I thought you had cancer or something.”

  At this reminder of her grandmother, Nina said remorsefully, “Nan? Damn. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even ask about Grandma.”

  “Oh, she’s going along as usual. Supposed to be dying, but she sure don’t look like a dying lady to me. Or act like one, either. Betcha ten to one those doctors have screwed up, and she’s going to live for another ten years.”

  “Well, give her my love.”

  “Sure. I’ll even kiss her for you.”

  “Do that. I mean it.”

  “Okay. I mean it, too.… Now, listen, on the subject of you screwing around—”

  “Nancy—”

  “My language offends you?”

  “I’m not screwing around. I think we had this conversation once before, also. And I don’t like it any better this time.”

  “Sorry again. Okay, on the subject of your, er, problem, my advice is, you’re taking it too seriously.”

  “It is serious. Living together—you don’t think that’s serious? I do. It’s almost like being married, and when you’re married, you don’t—”

  “Oh, come on,” Nancy yelped. “No way is it like being married. Is that what you really think? Come on! It’s not like being married the way Mom and Dad are married.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Nina said after a moment. There was a half-empty can of soda on the table. She sipped from it. “But, still, you shouldn’t fool around. And we both did. That’s what’s so depressing.” She dropped the can, wanting to spit out the flat, tasteless liquid.

  “Listen, Nina, because you screwed—excuse me, made love—with two guys does not mean the world is going to topple. That was not Chicken Little’s message. Did you ever ask yourself what screwing really means? It’s great, sure; I wouldn’t want to live without it. But it’s not that holy special, either. What I mean, Nina—everybody does it, right? Everybody. And they all do it with everybody else. And so what?”

  “I shouldn’t have done it.” It was the only thing Nina could think of to say. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “So why did you? Curious?”

  “No.”

  “Ahh, Nina, everyone is curious. If all I’d ever had was one guy, I sure would be. Hey, was it nice?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Are you kidding? Geez! I think you’re serious. Nina, let me tell you something I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been thinking deep thoughts, sis. About life. And I’ve decided that my idea of life is that it’s most like a humongous house.”

  “Life is a house?” Nina couldn’t help laughing. “Nobody but you, Nancy.”

  “Wait, you haven’t heard the rest. And in this humongous house there are parties going on. Parties in every room. Get it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, look,” Nancy said patiently. “In every room—and there are hundreds of them—there are these terrific parties, and every party is different from every other party. Now do you see? Me—I want to go to all those parties. Don’t you, Nina?”

  Nina had no answer.

  A few nights later, waking out of a sound sleep, she saw Emmett’s humped dark shape at the foot of the bed. An explosion of joy roared through her. “Emmett!” She sat up, wriggling her toes at him. He disappeared.

  She sat there, staring at the darkness that was now negative darkness, negative Emmett, and thought that if Emmett hadn’t gotten out of the apartment that first springlike afternoon, she would have had no reason to cry in Nicholas Lehman’s office. But that, of course, would not have changed the facts of Mitch’s case—of Mitch and Lynell. Of which she would have continued to be totally ignorant. And in that case, where would she be now? Made a fool of.

  Sitting up in the darkness with Mitch mumbling in his sleep next to her, sleep fled Nina. The back of her neck came as alive as a hand, and she understood that Mitch, of his own will, would never have told her about himself and Lynell. It was, as he kept saying, over and done with.

  Only to show her that that half hour on Nicholas Lehman’s Oriental rug was no worse than his “error,” had he confessed, too. Sure, they had both made mistakes. Would you be human if you didn’t? Let go. Forgive and forget. He was willing, he said, even though it hadn’t been easy for him to take the news about her and Nicholas Lehman. It had rocked him hard.

  Had it been any easier for her to hear about him and Lynell? In a sense, hadn’t it been even harder on her? Mitch barely knew Nicholas Lehman, but Lynell was a friend. And what’s more, by Mitch’s own admission, the thing with Lynell had gone on for some time. As much as I could. Hard to forget those words! They buried themselves in her, seemed to be out of sight and forgotten, then, like worms coming up to light after a rain, they reappeared, shining and slimy, at even the mention of Lynell’s name.

  “Are you still mad?” Mitch asked one morning. The first Sunday in May.

  “Do I act mad?”

  “No, but … you know.” He passed her the doughnuts. “You act fine,” he said emphatically, “but I meant … underneath. Subconsciously. Are you holding a grudge against me?”

  Nina dunked her doughnut in coffee and nipped at the sweet sogginess. Forgive and forget. She agreed to the principle, but while forgiving seemed something within her control, forgetting had so far escaped her. She wanted to forget, but she didn’t. She remembered what she had done. She remembered what he had done. Faces, places, and scenes, real and imagined, made themselves too much at home in her mind.

  “I don’t think I’m mad anymore,” she said finally.

  “I’m not, either,” Mitch said. “I’ve forgotten what happened.”

  “You really don’t remember?”

  “Well, sure I do.… But I don’t think about it. I don’t brood over it.”

  “I don’t brood over it, either.”

  “That’s good, I was afraid you were.”

  “No,” she said quickly, shaking her head.

  “But, still …” He sighed deeply. There was a little ring of sugar around his mouth that touched Nina. Made him look like a little boy. “I feel we really haven’t gotten into a good place again. I wish we’d just met.”

  “Why? Then everything would still have to happen.”

  “It could be different.”

  “I was thinking about that. I don’t know. I think it would be all the same, because you’d be you and I’d be me, and—” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to start again. Not knowing what was coming.”

  “You wouldn’t know. It would just be the beginning.”

  “So what would be the use?”

  He stared at her. “You defeat me when you put on that crisp, practical voice.”

  “Sorry!”

  “Are we going to fight?” he said in a moment.

  “I hope not. I don’t have the time today.” She laughed a little.

  “Studying again? I thought maybe we’d go out. It’s a fantastic day.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “If we’d just met, you wouldn’t have said la
ter in that tone of voice.”

  “What tone of voice?”

  “Forget I said it. Don’t get hostile.”

  “I’m not getting—”

  “Nina, Nina, let’s play a game. Let’s play we just met. I see you and I say, ‘Hello! I’m Mitch Beers.’ And you say—”

  Nina smiled. “Hello. I’m Nina Bloom.”

  “Bloom?”

  “Bloom.”

  “Nina Bloom Bloom, you’re someone I’d like to kiss.”

  “Just what I was thinking about you.”

  “Well, let’s do it.”

  They kissed, just their lips meeting. A grade-school kiss that made them both laugh.

  “Again?” Mitch said.

  “Again.” She leaned across the table, put her hands on his shoulders, felt the strong bones beneath her fingers, and kissed him harder.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  “Good.”

  “Aww, Bloom, you can do better than that! How about on a scale of one to ten?”

  “Oh … an eight for sure.”

  “Only an eight? Not a ten? Did the prof—” He cut himself off, but it was clear he’d been about to say, Did the professor rate only an eight?

  And what would she have said? Lynell—what did she rate?

  But neither said anything. Nina studied. Mitch went out to play basketball. Later they took a long walk. Still later they made cinammon toast and sat up in bed, legs twined together, eating and talking and making plans.

  They decided they should do more things together. From now on they’d get up early every morning and jog together. Also they’d make a real effort to keep the apartment cleaner. They agreed that Nina should look for a summer job. And maybe they would hunt for a better apartment—more space to move around in, something closer to a real home. “But near campus,” Nina said. Then they discussed renting a car some weekend in June and visiting both sets of parents. “I know my mother will like you,” Mitch said.

  “You and my father will get along.” Nina clasped her knees. This morning she had thought they were going to blow all their carefully nurtured goodwill. But they had gotten past the dangerous moment, and had a good day. And now, making plans with Mitch, she remembered exactly how she had felt when she was ten years old, on the first day of school. Shoes polished to a fare-thee-well, untouched notebook under her arm, she would set off with her head filled with promises to herself. All the disappointments still to come.

  No, but what a way to think! Here it was late at night, and they were sitting up together after having made love, brushing cozily at the crumbs from their toast. So why did these traitorous little thoughts sneak in? Was she sitting here enthusiastically agreeing to everything, but not believing any of it? Too tired to pursue this line of thought any further, she pushed it out of her mind.

  In some ways nothing had changed between her and Mitch. She was still drawn to him, he could still make her laugh, and she still thought more about him than anyone else. And yet, in another way, it was all changed. There was something new, a new awareness, almost like a third person or, more accurately, another Nina, who now stood, if not between them, then alongside them at every moment. They were no longer a twosome.

  A shadow had been cast. It was present, it was there, flickering, dim, but with a life of its own. Nina had been made unsure by what had happened—unsure about herself, about Mitch, about them. And there had been little changes. They no longer seemed to crowd into the bathroom together. Sometimes Nina, having studied late, slept on the couch. And mornings, rushing, grabbing a roll, books, papers, she said, “Sorry, hon, no time for breakfast.”

  And more and more she would remember her joy, her happiness, her deep satisfaction when she’d moved in with Mitch at having her own territory and, at last, that precious closeness and intimacy with another loved person. How much she had wanted that sense of us. Us. We two. A unit, self-contained. A small perfect circle. There they had been, at the center, in the heart of the heart of their own world. And nothing else had seemed to matter.

  Chapter Thirty

  The apartment was stuffy. Nina studied by the open window. Outside a dog barked, car horns bleated. Thinking of her first exam, which was on Tuesday afternoon, her stomach jumped. She went into the kitchen. Always ate too much when she was nervous. She gobbled a piece of bread, ate some cold frozen peas, and then searched restlessly in the cupboard. Tucked in with the cans of baked beans and chicken noodle soup, she found a can of cat food. She stared at it weakly. How could she not have seen it before this? Ages ago Mitch had gotten rid of the catbox, the extra bag of kitty litter, and the big bag of kibble. But somehow he had overlooked this one can of cat food. She shut the cupboard door on it quickly.

  Moving around the apartment, unable now to sit still, she thought about how she and Mitch kept saying to each other that everything was fine. Fine, fine, just fine! Then she thought how last night they had gone to sleep wrapped together, but this morning awakened on opposite sides of the bed, facing away from each other.

  “Don’t stop now.” Mitch ran backward, urging Nina on. It was six o’clock Saturday morning. The streets were cool and, except for other joggers, nearly deserted. “You’re doing great,” he said.

  “Liar,” she panted.

  “A couple more days and you’ll be in shape.”

  “For what, a coffin?”

  “Come on, lift those legs.” He pranced around her in circles, legs high, showing off. “Come on, come on.” He flicked his fingers at her.

  “Quit it!”

  Laughing, he ran ahead of her.

  She stopped dead. “I don’t like jogging,” she yelled after him. “It’s boring! I don’t believe you when you tell me it’ll give me extra energy!” Then in a sudden temper she yelled, “Did you hear me? Mitch! Did you hear me?” But he was out of sight by then, out of hearing.

  That afternoon in the cheese store she ran into Lynell. “Hello, Nina.” The last time Nina had seen her was the day Emmett died. “Hello, Lynell.” She took her chunk of Gouda cheese to the counter.

  “Ready for exams?” Lynell looked fresh in a pink smocked dress.

  “Hope so. How about you?”

  “I never worry about exams.” She put down a box of crackers. “I had good news today. I’ve been accepted for a summer internship with the Philly Symphony.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I won’t be playing. I’ll be everybody’s gofer. Still, it’s good. The first good thing in a while. This hasn’t been the best year for me. The thing with Adam, and then …” She looked away.

  “I know what you mean,” Nina said, hoping she sounded cooler than she felt. Her internal temperature was well beyond comfortable.

  Outside, they smiled at each other and said good luck for exams and over the summer, and that they’d probably see each other in the fall. And all the time Nina wondered if she should say anything to Lynell about her and Mitch. Let her know she knew. But why? Only for revenge. Nina shrugged uncomfortably. No, she’d let it go.

  “Nina—” Lynell touched her shoulder. “If I ever did anything to … hurt you, I’m sorry.” Before Nina could recover from her surprise, Lynell walked away.

  At supper that night Mitch was animated. He had heard a detailed report about a kidnapping that had some strange features. An old woman had been taken but apparently she had no money to speak of. “Who would want to kidnap her? Nobody can figure it out.”

  “I know … it’s weird.…” Nina wasn’t really listening. “I’m worried about my exams, Mitch.”

  “You’ve been studying like a demon. Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to go through it.”

  “That’s because I gave up all that crap.”

  “It’s not crap to me. It’s important to me. Certain things are important to me. Emmett was important to me.”

  “Emmett? How’d he get into this?”

  “I was thinking about him today. I miss him, I really mis
s him. I guess that’s something else you can’t understand, either.”

  “Nina, cool it.”

  “I hate the way you say that.”

  “How do I say it? I don’t say it any special way.”

  “As if I’m hysterical! I’m cool. Cool.”

  “Okay, you’re cool. A cool fool.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Just a joke.”

  “I heard you. Why’d you call me a fool?”

  “I didn’t, Nina; it was just something to say. Rhyming. Cool … fool …”

  “You just said it again.”

  “Nina. Unfair! I was only trying to show you. Look, it was one of those dumb remarks. I didn’t mean it about you, okay? Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “Aren’t you out of the shower yet?” Mitch called.

  “Another minute.”

  “It’s already been ten minutes.”

  “Mitch, I just stepped in.” And then, controlling her irritation, “I saw Lynell yesterday.”

  He put his head inside the shower curtain. “So?”

  “So nothing.” She pulled the curtain closed.

  “Why do you keep bringing up Lynell? I don’t want to hear about her. I don’t think it helps anything.”

  She shampooed her hair. “I was just giving you a bit of news.”

  “Would you like me to bring up your professor every two minutes?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve mentioned Lynell’s name! And he’s not my professor.” She threw down the plastic shampoo bottle. “The way you say that!”

  “He’s sure not my professor. I saw him the other day. He crossed the street. Good thing.”

  “What are you saying? That you’d fight him or something?”

  “Yeah, or something.”

  “Are you going to get steamed up every time you see him? You’re bound to run into him.”

  “Well, I can’t see him and feel blank!”

  “You talk as if everything were one-sided. How do you think I felt seeing Lynell?”

  “That’s different, Nina. A man’s feelings aren’t like a woman’s.”