Abroad (31 page)

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.

There was still no answer even after a full minute, so I buzzed again. Nothing. Finally, on the fifth ring, a cautious “
Sì?
”

“Is Anna here?”

I was answered with only a blank crackle over the intercom. I buzzed again, then knocked. When ten more minutes passed, I pounded relentlessly, slapping the door. By the time someone finally came—an Italian flatmate I recognized but whose name I didn’t know—my hands were bloodless and smarting.

“Anna is not here,” the girl said. “The old man took her.”

“The old man? Who?”

“The man. The English man.”

“What are you talking about?” I felt like shaking her. A roar rose in my ears.

“I told you, the English—”

In my pocket, my phone began vibrating. I picked it up and saw it was a London number.

“He said she wouldn’t be back,” the girl said. “That they are going to England. Do you think we can have her clothes?”

“No! Just a moment…” I turned away. “Hello?”

“Tabitha Deacon?”

“Yes?”

“This is Arthur Korloff.”

“Oh!” The flatmate shut the door and locked it again. “I’m so glad you called. Anna’s—”

“With me.”

“Ah.” The panic receded. “I see.”

“I need to meet with you.”

“In London?”

“Of course not. I flew in to Grifonia last night.”

“What? Why?”

“I received a call that Anna was in trouble. So I came.”

“A call? What sort of call?”

“Meet me at the main university building, in that concert hall. It’s usually open at this hour for kids who want to practice, but no one ever goes.”

“When?”

“Right away. We’ll be taking a train as soon as possible. As soon as she’s fit to travel.”

The pounding was back. “All right.”

“Come now, Tabitha. As in,
right
now.”

He hung up. I left Anna’s house, walking quickly down the street, past the building I’d followed Colin into that day, then down to the school. The college was crawling with students headed to their midday classes; I thought sheepishly of the ones I’d been skipping. The main concert hall was open. I sat in front of the mural, looking at the stony faces of those noble laborers carrying those huge blocks of stone. After a few minutes, the door slammed behind me. Professor Korloff walked to the very front of the concert hall with his satchel, took a seat on the stage, feet dangling off the side, and lit up.

“Hello again,” I said.

“Tabitha.” Professor Korloff was dressed up today in a blue suit, though he still wore trainers. “Well. I knew you girls were bad for Anna, but this is a whole new level.”

“I’m sorry?”

He looked at me over his glasses and blew out the smoke. “Jenny called me yesterday. Not that I’m her biggest fan, after what she pulled at Samuel’s house.”

“And?”

“She said…” The professor took a breath. “She said that Anna was selling drugs. And using them. And on the verge of getting herself either arrested or killed.”

I sat down heavily in one of the wooden seats. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t know how that could be true.”

“No?”

“I’ve never seen Anna take anything. Ever.”

“Well. She was out of her mind this morning on something. How do you explain that?”

“I—”

“And all the bags of coke? And heroin? And those wafers? Don’t think I don’t know acid when I see it. Found them all under her bed. Explain that.”

“Look, why would you think I have something to do with all of this?”

“Because,” he said, “you’re the Persephone.”

“What?”

“You have those eyes. As if you were
meant
for … I don’t know. Subterfuge. You seem sweet, but it’s impossible to know what’s going on in there. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” I lied. Lots of people had told me that.

“Jenny called me yesterday, saying she was worried. Anna had been acting erratically, she said. Getting high, disappearing to other countries for weekends.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen Anna high. And she never goes
anywhere
. Our other friend Luka does, but—”

“Well, Jenny went through Anna’s things because she wanted to know what the hell was going on. And boom, a huge stash.”

“Professor Korloff…” I paused, shaken by the enormity of Jenny’s lies. “Maybe it’s not hers.”

“That, frankly, is very hard for me to believe.” Seized all of a sudden by a wracking cough, he sat back for a moment, recovering, then threw his cigarette onto the floor.

“All right. This meeting has been amazingly useless. Tomorrow, as soon as she’s sober, or as sober as she can be, I’m taking her by train to Rome and then to London. I’ll check her into a quiet, low-profile rehab facility and she can forget about all of this.”

“But she’s not a drug addict.”

“Really? Because she told me she’s ready to go.
Get me the hell out of here
were her exact words. And when I found the … products, she admitted the whole thing. She’s been selling.”

“With who?”

“She didn’t say. But I have a guess.”

“I swear it’s not me.”

“Well, of course. If you swear.”

I sighed. “Where is she? I need to talk to her.”

“I don’t think that’s particularly wise.”

“Professor Korloff, Anna really is my friend. I would like to at least say goodbye.”

The professor looked at me. “I put her in a room at the Nysa. It’s expensive but I needed discretion. Also, coming down from whatever she’s on will be uncomfortable, so I thought the nice room would help.”

I picked up my bag and started for the door.

“One moment,” Professor Korloff said.

“Yes?”

“I need you to deal with these drugs.”

“Deal with them?”

“Get rid of them.”

“I’m sorry. I—I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do that.”

Professor Korloff looked at me for a moment, then got up and rushed toward me. He leaned over and shook me roughly by the shoulders.

“Stop lying to me!” he growled. “Grow up, Tabitha! All right? Fix your fucking mess!”

“I’m not lying. This whole time, I’ve never lied.”

The professor released me. He paused, straightened his clothes, then walked to the satchel he’d brought in and held it up. “It’s all in here. Take it somewhere.”

I took the bag. It was heavy, significant. As if there were a head inside. Reluctantly, I pulled the strap over my shoulder.

“You know, this all used to mean something,” he said, gesturing with disgust at the sack. “Girls who went abroad, they were breaking out. It was a sexual revolution. They were … tearing at ropes tied by their brothers and fathers. When a girl fucked you, she was fucking the
system
.” He ran his hand over his thin, delicate hair. “The Italian girls had to cover themselves all the time, you know, for religious reasons. So you know what they did? They wore these long white dresses, and then put on these black bras and panties, so we could see them through their clothes. Jesus, it
killed
us.” He shook his head. “And the drugs! They were a symbol. By getting high, you were getting away from the establishment. You girls, you have no idea why you’re in Italy or what you’re doing. You could be in your own living room. You just like that the colors on the walls are different.”

“That’s not true.”