A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That (10 page)

“They're not really for you,” Ella interrupted.

“Who are they for, then?”

“Other visitors.”

“Figures,” she said.

“Listen, Georgia,” Ella said, changing the subject, “what about the pill?”

“Remember how sick it made me?” She took a small bite, then put the doughnut hole back on the napkin.

“That's right.”

“I was sick and
fat.”

“I remember”

“You remember I was
fat?”
she said, worried, looking down at her flat stomach.

“I remember you were
sick.
You weren't fat—you were never fat. If you think you're fat, we need to talk about it.”

“I'm not one of those girls who sees a fatty in the mirror. I know I'm not fat, Ella. Don't make something out of nothing.”

“
I'm just
saying—”

Georgia cut her off. “I'm just saying that when I was on the pill, my tits were huge. Did you notice how huge they were?”

“No,” Ella said, “but you told me.”

Georgia flipped out her palm and looked at Ella. “Give me some of those condoms,” she said.

7.

They took a gondola ride at dusk. Their gondolier, a redcheeked boy Ella recognized from school, helped her into the little boat. “Ladies first,” he said. “My name is Daniel,” he told them. Jack's palm, held up like a stop sign, refused the gondolier's help, and he stepped into the boat on his own.

There were wool blankets. There was a lantern, a bottle of red wine, cheese and salami, a basket of sourdough bread. Jack had his arm around Ella's shoulder. He gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek and yet another apology in her ear. I
wasn't thinking, I only love you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—
twice before the boat even left the dock.

They sat with their backs to the gondolier, whose chest, Ella noticed, was strong and memorable in his black-and-white striped shirt. He wore a red scarf around his neck, a beret—the whole gondolier getup, but despite the charming costume, Daniel looked and sounded like the California surfer boy he most likely was.

A spray of water splashed into the boat when he reached down to pick up the long oar for the first time, and it was Daniel's muscled arms she noticed then. He said, “If you two want me to sing, let me know. I do Italian ballads. I'd be happy to sing to you both.”

“Thank you, but no,” Jack answered without turning around. He reached into the basket and pulled a piece of bread from the loaf. It seemed to Ella that her husband was tearing the bread harder than necessary, with a gusto that seemed strained and overdone.

The houses along the canal were unique, no two of them alike. One with pillars. One with an outdoor spiral staircase. A redbrick beauty to Ella's right, and to her left a modern structure made up primarily of windows. There were Victorians and A-frames, a three-story magnificent construction beside a humble duplex. There were lights going on in kitchens and dining rooms, people sitting down to dinner with family. Daniel slowed down at a particular house, a two-story Victorian with a large doll propped up in the second-story window. The doll, which at first Ella had mistaken for a little girl, must have been over three feet tall. “When I was a kid, dolls like that scared me,” she said to Jack.

“She's a doll?”

“Look how still she is. Look at her blank face.”

“I recognize you from the University,” Daniel said.

“Yes” Ella said. “I've seen you around. You an English major?”

“Double major, English and marketing.”

“Smart,” she said. “Someone literate who might also get a good job.” Ella pulled the blanket over her knees and leaned into Jack, who was leaning in the opposite direction, moving toward the wine. Their shoulders gently collided, and then he was leaning forward and she was leaning back into the spot where his body had been. Jack uncorked the bottle, set two glasses on the ledge in front of them, and began pouring. He handed Ella the fuller glass of the two. “Merlot,” he said, “your favorite.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. “I recognize you too,” she said to Daniel, half turning around.

“You re Ella Bloom, right?”

“That's right.”

“The poet,” Daniel said.

“I don't know about that,” Ella said.

Jack leaned into her, and she felt his whole body stiffen, go rigid beside her. “I'm Mr. Bloom,” he said, over his shoulder.

“What's wrong?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said, reaching into the basket once more for a slice of salami. “He called you the poet. He knows your name,” Jack said quietly.

“How do you know my name?” she asked.

“I get around.”

Ella laughed. “I'm sure,” she said, “but I don't.”

The gondolier laughed with her. “You've got Rachel Spark for poetry.”

Now she turned around completely. Daniel's lips were red like his cheeks. His dark hair was wavy, hanging out from under the beret. He noticed her looking and reached up to adjust the hat. “Are you in that class?” she asked him.

“Just transferred out. A business class I had to make up was only offered on Monday nights. Barely missed the deadline.”

“Too bad,” she said. “Rachel is great.”

“I've had other classes with her. I'm going to take her again, too.”

“You should.”

“I sat in the middle row, behind you. I saw the back of you,” Daniel said, “so this is a view I recognize.”

Jack turned around abruptly and looked at the gondolier. “Look, Danny,” he said.

“Name's Daniel.”

“Look, Daniel, how long have you been doing this?” Jack asked.

“Three months, Mr. Bloom.”

“Yes, well,” Jack said. “Sometimes people want to be alone, you know?”

“Okay.”

“It's supposed to be romantic,” Jack said.

“I get it.”

“Come on,” Ella said to Jack. “Relax. He's just being friendly.”

“Friendly, huh?”

“Yes—he's being polite, that's all. Let the guy sing, Jack. I wouldn't mind hearing a song,” she said.

“How about one of those songs?” Jack said to Daniel. “And don't sing too loudly, please. I want to be with my wife here, you know what I mean? We're married. This poet here is my wife.”

“Maybe later” the gondolier said. “I don't feel like singing now.”

“Don't sing then,” Jack snapped.

“I won't,” Daniel said.

The sky was orange and pink and gray, the sun falling between two fat clouds. Seagulls shrieked above them. A man and his small son stood by the rocks, holding hands. The boy had a kite shaped like a spider under one arm. “Hey Jerry, hey Ray,” Daniel said.

“How's it going, Daniel?” the man said.

“Been better,” the gondolier answered.

Ella nudged Jack. “Be nice,” she said. “It's embarrassing.”

“What did I do?” Jack whispered. “It's Danny who's rude.”

“Isn't this boat ride supposed to be for me? I thought you were sorry,” she said.

“One thing doesn't have to do with the other,” he said.

“I think it does,” she said.

Daniel, who had refused to sing, was now humming instead, and his humming and the wine and the water and the sound of the oar hitting it was, despite Jack and the gondolier's testy interaction, lulling Ella, calming her down. She was feeling the wine and she was feeling noticed, her whole body going slack against Jack's tension.

A pair of black ducks followed the gondola and came up beside her. She tossed them chunks of bread. “Aren't you sweeties,” she said to the ducks. “Aren't you little midnight sweeties?”

Twenty minutes into the ride and Daniel hadn't said a word to them since Jack shushed him. Ella's husband tried to kiss her under every bridge. Her cheek was what she gave him when he came in for the first few kisses, but finally, under bridge number four, she gave him her lips. The bottle was empty at their feet. She tasted the salami on Jack's lips. She felt his regret. She believed he was sorry, that he loved her. They were drunk.

“I wonder if couples ever fight out here?” Ella said to Jack.

“We almost did” Jack said.

“I mean
really
fight—have a rotten time. Do you think it's possible?” she said, snuggling into him.

“Ask Daniel,” Jack said, finally loosening up. “If you want to know, ask him.”

“No,” she said.

“Daniel,” Jack said, “you still mad at me?”

“I'm not mad at you,” Daniel said. “If you don't want to talk to me, you don't have to. We don't have to be friends.”

“Let's be friends,” Jack said. “You want to be friends with us?”

“I've got friends.”

“Can I ask you a question anyway?”

“It's your ride,” the boy said.

“Ella's wondering if you've ever seen a couple fight out here?”

“Once.”

“What happened?” Ella asked.

“An older guy was opening a bottle of champagne and accidentally hit his wife in the face with the cork. The wife was pissed, screaming and shouting, calling him an asshole.”

“Did he hit her in the eye?” Ella wanted to know.

“The cheek.”

“It must have hurt,” she said.

“The wife wanted me to turn the boat around and give them their money back. I think it was their tenth anniversary or something.”

“She just flipped out, obviously,” Jack said.

“Please,”
Ella said.

“I felt sorry for the guy, but for her too. Her face was all blotchy—it looked like he hit her.”

“Maybe they had other problems too,” Jack said.

“Maybe so,” Daniel said. Apparently the boy wanted to talk, now that the dock was in sight. It was dark and the birds were quiet, lights on in every home and window they passed. “Once, a couple did the opposite.”

“What's the opposite?” Jack said.

“They were kissing under the bridges, like you're supposed to, like you two have been doing, and then we came out the other side and the guy's head was gone.”

“Was he going down on her?” Jack wanted to know.

“At first I thought he lost something, his wallet or his keys, and was searching the floor. Then I saw his head move under the blanket. It was pretty raunchy.”

“Enough about cunnilingus,” Ella said, both annoyed and flushed.

“Cunna
what?” the gondolier said.

“Hey,” Jack said, “I thought you went to college, Danny. Don't you go to college?”

“I go to college,” the gondolier said, steering into the dock. “And the name's Daniel.”

8.

When Ella's poetry teacher, Rachel Spark, showed up at the clinic, Ella hid her face behind a clipboard, mouthing at Sarah, “That one is yours.”

“Where?” she said. “Who?”

“That one over there,” Ella said, pointing.

“The young girl?”

“No, the woman beside her. Dark hair, black blouse.”

“Oh, the lady.”

“The woman,” Ella said. “No one says ‘lady' anymore, Sarah. A woman, okay? And I know her.”

“Sorry,” she said, “but I'm off. My shift is over.” Sarah took off the white jacket, placed it over her arm, and gave Ella a mousy look. “Sorry,” she said again. “I've got to go,” she said.

“Fine. Whatever,” Ella said, sounding more like Georgia Carter than herself. She turned her back on Sarah and reluctantly slid the little window open. She paused a moment before popping her head out. “Rachel,” Ella called, “I've got some paperwork for you.”

Rachel rose from the couch and straightened her skirt. She picked up her purse, swung it over her shoulder, and came up to the window. She looked at Ella's face and her eyes widened. “You didn't tell me you work here,” she snapped.

“You didn't ask, Dr. Spark.”

“I'm not a doctor. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a doctor?” She leaned toward the window, whispering harshly.

“I'm sorry,” Ella said.

“I'm sorry too.”

“Whatever goes on here is confidential. I'm a professional,” Ella continued.