Abroad, page 24
23
I didn’t keep a journal in those days, but Claire did, one that was later grossly misinterpreted and pored over for clues that weren’t there. In it, she wrote of me, and Alessandra, and Gia, and Colin, and Marcello. She wrote of our cottage, of the Swede she slept with “on a dare with myself.” She wrote of being unable to concentrate on her homework because of her obsession with Colin’s “eyes like endless sparkling pools.” She never wrote anything negative, never a word about people she didn’t like. Jenny, for instance, was never mentioned. And a few times, next to my name, she drew a heart and a flower with a purple pen, just as Babs and I had done when we were little girls.
Those who read the diary during her interrogations tried to find something sinister in those hearts, something dark and sexual. Killed out of obsession, the Italians wrote in their spectacular tabloids about me. Killed out of revenge. The journal, of course, was good as smoke. Claire was in love with the same person as I was. This was true. And we were doubtlessly in love with each other. But she wasn’t a killer. Or she could have been, I suppose. But not without help.
* * *
Heeding Jenny’s last-minute text invitation, I met her at Pizza Bella. I could have told her about Marcello, but I didn’t want to talk about it. Anyway, somewhat appropriately, the mood was a somber one. Jenny wasn’t at a table drinking wine, but instead outside, shivering in line. Luka was also there, a fact that made me less than thrilled after our last conversation.
“No inside track tonight?” I asked.
“Different bloke than usual,” Luka said, though to me, he looked like the same man she’d always bribed before with perfect success.
“All right.”
“Listen—sorry about the other day. What I said. I was bloody hungover and in a pissy mood.”
“It’s okay.”
“What are you talking about?” Jenny asked. “You’re sorry about what?”
“I was a bit of a bitch. What else is new?”
“Luka, you must watch yourself,” Jenny said.
Everything felt off. I longed for a glass of wine.
“And, Taz, what’s with this blood on your face?”
“I was trying to be scary.”
Jenny laughed, looking anything but in the low-cut black dress she wore under her cape. Her hair was blown out to perfection and she had forgone the green paint we’d bought together for a full face of proper makeup. “The point’s to attract men, not frighten them away.”
“Fine. I messed up. Again. Are we still going to this party, then? With the indoor pool?”
“’Fraid not. Lost the connection I had to the host.”
“How?” This had never happened before.
“The guy just isn’t going,” she said impatiently.
The line moved quickly, but being a regular customer wasn’t nearly so pleasant as our former VIP status. We were served as slowly as anyone else in the place, and the waiter seemed to hover ominously throughout the meal, ready to shove us out as soon as the plates were cleared. Finishing too early to move on to the Red Lion properly, we sat on the cathedral steps, taking sips from Luka’s flask in the cold. I kept waiting for Jenny to make a joke about slumming it with the other students, but she was uncharacteristically silent. Or perhaps it was Luka’s mood, grim to the point of suffocation, keeping any sense of lightness at bay.
“Any news of Samuel?” I asked, for want of anything else to talk about.
“Over it. Bored me stiff.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“From what I heard, the boredom was all his,” Luka said. “Did he ever call?”
Jenny swiveled sharply. “You know, you and Anna are really trying my patience, Luka.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“What is it, love? Might as well get it out.”
“I’m fucking bored, is it,” she said. “Same as Anna. We’ve served our time on this ridiculous venture, Jenny. We don’t need to go out together all the time. Or anymore, period, since you’re stopping things.”
“I’m not stopping forever. Just until she calms down.”
“I’m just sick of it. I want to do what I want. I need to go to Rome, take a painting class. I need to meet some new people. We’re here, in the most amazing place in the world, but we’re stuck being your window dressing. You know, Ben and his friends at Samuel’s were fun. Smart. We could have had a hell of a time in Rome with those blokes, but you mucked it up. You said it was all going to be fabulous, but you know what? It’s a prison.”
“You can go to Rome,” Jenny said. “I don’t need you.” She twirled a piece of wheat-colored hair around her finger. “You’re just sitting on me, that’s all. To make sure I won’t say certain things. Because if I did, what would happen, Luka?”
Luka didn’t reply.
“That’s right. If I talk about what happened to your girlfriend, it wouldn’t go so well, would it? Not that I would. I’m not usually like that. But I get sloppy, don’t I? Talky. That’s what you and Anna are worried about, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s what we’re fucking worried about.”
I sat hunkered in my cape, still as a stone.
“I never would. But then, I couldn’t live with it either. Not with what you lot did.”
“We didn’t do anything.”
“That’s right. And it’s the worst part. That’s not staying in front of it. That’s just … meanness. Or is it murder? I can’t decide.”
Luka looked at me. “Jenny, stop it.”
“Oh Taz doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. She’s sweet as pie. No, I think it’s your guilt keeping you here, Luka. After it all happened I said I was still going, and you both rushed over to Italy to be with me. Not because it would be fun. Not that. You came to keep me quiet. You think I don’t know that? I never said I would tell. Never. But I do like to have a drink and talk. Yes I do.”
I glanced at Luka, who was crying, big tears hitting the ground.
“It’s Anna you have to worry about, right now. Not me.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you go home, love. You look terrible. We’ll talk about it all later.”
“Yeah.”
Luka looked at me again, her eyes red and lost, then retreated into the crowd. Jenny and I remained there for a while, sipping from the flask. After half an hour, I finally got up the gumption to talk.
“Can I ask?”
“It’s not important.”
“You said murder,” I said, carefully.
“Figure of speech, love. Just an old girlfriend of hers. You know how she can be about it. She’s fucking gay, and can’t just go with it.”
I knew Jenny was lying. She was never sloppy. Ever. Never said a word she hadn’t calculated and planned. But I was freezing and knew she wouldn’t tell me anything else.
“Shall we go?”
“Why not?” I said.
We marched together, arm in arm. I tried to shake off the heaviness of Luka’s outburst, but something was just different—I could tell as soon as we entered the bar. Usually when we walked in there was a feeling of the seas parting. Now people just looked at us and then went back to their conversations. We were ordinary now, simply two girls in trampy costumes swallowed by the crowd.
“Know anyone here?”
“No.”
Just then the Belgian girl with the frizzy curls who I’d met at the start of the semester spotted us. I almost didn’t recognize her; she was pale as a sheet and must have lost upwards of fifteen pounds. Who loses weight in Italy? I wondered. To my surprise, she tapped Jenny’s bare, glitter-painted shoulder.
“Hey,” she said. “You going to the lake soon?”
“Certainly not,” Jenny said. “The weather’s rotten. Probably not for a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” The girl’s bloodshot eyes darted back and forth. “Is anyone else going?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s total bullshit. I paid you and you said—”
“Calm. Down.” Jenny spit out the words.
“Sorry,” she said, glancing at me. “Well, if you do go, will you call me? Right away? All right?”
Jenny gave the girl a final glare that sent her scuttling away.
“Jenny, what is going on?”
Jenny raised her hand to hail the barman. “I’m taking a break from the business until I see what happens with Anna. She’s a live wire right now, and personally, I don’t want to go to Italian prison.”
“That girl seemed pretty keen on getting her supply, I suppose.”
“Well, she’s paid for it.” The barman slid Jenny a drink over the bar. “Listen, I hate to ask, but do you have any money for that pizza?”
“Of course.” I tried not to sound surprised, though I almost never carried much money with me anymore, as everything was always taken care of. I reached into my pocket and pulled out twenty euros.
“Wouldn’t mind a bit extra if you can spare it.”
“Sure.” I handed her another twenty.
“Thanks,” she said. “God, this is a miserable place. Let’s make the best of it, then. Have some shots and dance.”
I obliged. There was something particularly awful about the Red Lion that evening. Perhaps it was the crush of girls baring too much cleavage in their cat and barmaid costumes, or the ghoulish rubber masks the boys had bought in haste from the makeshift Halloween shops lining the piazza. The dancing was savage, the music grating, the stink of bodies thick in the pillowy air.
“I’m going to stand on the side for a while,” I shouted at Jenny, who had surrendered to dancing with some fat werewolves. She pointed to her ear to indicate that there was no way she could hear me. I moved to the bar to watch.
“Hey.” Claire was standing beside me, in jeans and a T-shirt, and a spider drawn on her face with black eyeliner, smudged. “You look awesomely terrifying.”
“Yes, I mistook the point of the evening, I’m afraid.”
“No, it’s great. All the zombies will want you, bad.”
“Where’s Colin?” I asked.
Claire shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. “Home,” she finally muttered. “He hates this place.”
“I sort of do, too, really.”
“Oh, it’s okay. Cheap drinks, music. I kind of like it. Are your girls here?”
“Jenny’s over there. With some wolves.”
“Appropriate.” Claire crossed her arms, looking at the dancers. “What a shitty night.”
“Why?”
“Colin. He’s doing … that thing. Pulling a fade. Not that he’s not always aloof. He’s quiet, you know. But he’s shutting me out.”
“Marcello isn’t being so terrific either. Just told me I could go make out with someone else. Thanks a lot.”
“There’s nothing worse,” Claire said, as if she hadn’t heard me. “You think you have someone, you know? You really have them. That you’re on the same page with each other. That you like each other the same amount.”
“You said love the other day.”
“That was stupid of me.” Claire gave me a look and took a drink. “I guess he’s just a little freaked out about the other night.”
“Oh? I thought the two of you might have done that before.”
“Why the hell would you think that?” Claire’s tone was sharp. I turned to study her face.
“Well, because you had no qualms taking it, Claire.”
“Oh, the zanopane.”
It happened in a single instant, a fluid chain of expressions moving like quicksilver over her features. Her complete openness—it was always her downfall. That clean, lovely face transmitted what she was thinking with such precision and vitality, she may as well have been an artist’s canvas, waiting to be colored and shaped.
“Why?” I asked slowly. “What did you think I meant?”
She looked back at the churning dance floor. “That. The zanopane is what I thought you meant.”
“You know, the first day you said it. You made the rule, when I said your bloody hair looked nice. No lying, you said. So what is it?”
She looked at me, stricken. “Oh, fuck. Taz.”
“What?”
“I knew you were being too easy about it. I told Marcello so yesterday.”
“Why did you see Marcello yesterday?”
“He came to see me at the bar. He—well. He wanted to talk to me.”
“About?”
“So you really don’t remember.”
“Remember?”
“Shit, Taz, you were right fucking there.”
I stepped back. She was wrong—of course I remembered. My ear ringing where my hand was pressing against it, propped up as I was on my elbow. Colin in a white shirt and khaki corduroys, sitting up with his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. I remember the texture of the pants. I wanted to touch them, but I couldn’t because of the legs between us. We were watching them, Claire and Marcello. Her ankles around his large brown back. Both of them naked, their skin pressed together, the smacking of their hips. Claire’s head turned toward Colin, Marcello’s eyes rolled upward in pleasure, the whites almost blue.
“Taz—”
Claire could not, could not stop talking.
“I’m so so fucking sorry. It wasn’t even that—well. I only did it because I thought Colin wanted me to. I thought it might get him interested again, so he’d let me in a little. It sounds weird, to do that for someone, but he’s been so…”
“He’s been what?”
“The afternoons. I told you. He sees someone else. I just wanted him to like me enough to—”
“It’s just Latin class!” I shouted.
“How do you—”
“You wanted to make him like you?”
She grabbed my arms, pleading. “You know what it’s like, don’t you, Taz? When the other person just makes you … I don’t know. Insane. Colin was so into me at first, but he’s been distracted, and it kills me. It really does. I can’t even sleep, Taz. You know? I feel like I’m going fucking nuts.”
“Don’t.” I pulled away from her. I didn’t want her touching me.
“Taz! I mean, it’s not like you didn’t know. Or I thought you did. I mean, you were there, just … smiling at us…”
I was physically hit only once in my life. When I was six, I put on a velvet top that my sister had gotten as a present. It was a white off-the-shoulder thing. Then I got into her makeup and painted my face. Bronzer dripped all over the shirt, staining it a muddy color. When my sister walked in, she didn’t say anything; she just balled up her fist and hit me in the stomach as hard as she could. This felt the same way: a fistful of knuckles in a six-year-old gut.
“You don’t even seem to like him, Taz. Marcello. Really, it’s impossible to know what you like. If I’d thought you really would have been hurt, I wouldn’t have … Oh, Taz. I love you so much, I really do. I’m so sorry. You’re the one who really fucking matters to me. I’d tell them both to fuck off if you wanted me to. Taz, say something. Taz?”
“I’m surprised,” I said finally. “That’s all, all right? I didn’t remember, and I’m a little surprised.”
“Do you remember the other things that happened?” Claire asked.
I paused. “I remember kissing you.”
“Yeah, you did.” Her hands were still on my elbows. She released them. “But that’s all we did.”
“And then?”
“And then you rolled over and watched, and Marcello started to take off my clothes and I looked at Colin and … whatever. You and Colin watched. Both of you did. I guess I thought you were into it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But maybe you were, though.” She stepped closer to me. I could smell the rum on her breath.
I shook my head. “Don’t be sick, Claire. This isn’t my fault. No wonder Colin isn’t with you today.”
“That’s pretty bitchy, Taz.”
“It could be true, though.”
“So you are pissed.”
“I guess I am.” I wasn’t certain if this was true. Now that I remembered it, Claire and Marcello writhing there, anger wasn’t the exact emotion that came to mind.
“Fuck,” Claire said. “I’m sorry, Taz. I don’t give a shit about Marcello. This all went the wrong way. I just—”
“What’s happening?” Jenny had glided up through the shadows. “Oh, hello Claire. What sort of costume is that? A Graham Greene thing? The Ugly American? Oh, I’m hilarious. Hold up. Tabitha, why are you crying?”
I didn’t answer. Instead I left them both and ran outside.
It was happening, after all. Change. A new need sprung forth that night, honest and bleeding. The desire to feel everything, no matter how awful. And so, despite Claire and Jenny’s cries from the bar doorway, I ran straight into the middle of the piazza. I joined the great warriors there, looking skyward.
You want me to fuck you now?
Finally, finally.
It was raining, coming down in sheets, and for once I stood right in it. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to get truly drenched.
24
The last morning, I woke clear-minded and rested at eleven. A hangover eluded me. I was tired, but nothing more. My phone was blinking with voice mails and texts; all of those voices closing in, yet the one person I wanted to hear from was missing.
Anna. Where was she? If anyone could make sense of all these silly, girlish emotions, I thought, certainly she could.
Thankfully, the house was empty. Alessandra and Gia had left in the early morning for their parents’ for the holiday; both left sweet notes saying goodbye. Claire, no doubt, was hiding from me at Colin’s house. Or perhaps she was downstairs at Marcello’s? I didn’t care. Or I did, but … what the hell.
I showered, scrubbing the green makeup off my face, then dressed warmly in a wool jumper and jeans. After a quick scramble up the stairs to the café, I had a cappuccino, then another, and climbed up the hill to Anna’s flat.
The double dose of caffeine had unfortunate effects. By the time I got to Anna’s, I was dripping with sweat. I waited for ten minutes, but it was apparently too early for any front door comings or goings, so finally I pressed my finger on the bell.
