In Trouble (9 page)

“He’s an amazing man,” Lois said. “He has rooms in his office for Negro girls who can’t find a place to stay in Ashland.”

My head was spinning with everything I didn’t know.

I must have looked weird, for Lois got up from the couch and started to come over to me. I stood up quickly. “Gotta go. Thanks.” And I was out the door.

Lois should have watched out for me. . . . She should have watched out for me. . . . She should have watched out for me. The words a refrain over the grinding of the subway wheels.

Then suddenly a flood I could not stop.

I could not run.

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18.

TIME: Almost two months ago.

SETTING: Lois took me to one of her favorite places in the Village, the Peacock Café, where according to tradition the cobwebs date from the roaring twenties and the cheesecake is divine.

SCENE: We drank coffee and ate the famous cheesecake, me and Lois and Stella, Lois’s friend, and then this guy walks in and joins us, just like that. He had a wool scarf around his neck.

Unshaven and hair kind of shaggy over his ears.

Thin, gorgeous, and he made me nervous. Lois asked him whether he’d been to the Ginsberg poetry reading at some bar.

“Uh huh.” He looked over her shoulder, and I couldn’t tell if he actually was seeing something or pretending faraway thought. He turned 94

his hooded eyes back to Lois. “You should’ve been there.”

“So, Jonas, this is my cousin Jamie.” She nodded toward me. “She’s an artist,” she smiled at him, then me, “and quite talented. Why don’t you come over? We’re going to have a early dinner before she goes home.”

“Why not?” he said. He took out two cigarettes, tapped the ends on the table, put them both in his mouth, lit them, and handed one to Stella, who batted her eyelashes.

Now, Voyager
with Paul Henreid lighting Bette Davis’s cigarette. I thought I’d faint.

Jonas closed and opened his eyes unbearably slowly. He tilted his head as if peering deep into me. I poked at my cheesecake. Faker, said my head, but the rest of me tingled. He left, and I felt relieved.

“He’s a good friend, but a pretty lousy actor,” Stella said.

“We’d never tell him that,” Lois added, “and we do go to any performance he’s in.”

“Mercifully, not many,” Stella said, rolling her eyes.

Lois laughed. “You’re terrible.”

They split the bill, and I walked with Lois back to her apartment.

“Have you known him a long time?”

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“Jonas? Three years, maybe four. He can come on a little strong with those half-closed eyes,” she laughed, “but he’s a decent guy.”

“But did you ever...” my voice was almost a whisper “sleep with him?”

“Oh no, sweetie, we’re just friends. I laughed the first time he whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and we’ve been friends ever since. If I were in any kind of trouble, I’m sure he’d be there for me.”

“Hey just friends, sure, hey...” I dribbled on and suddenly realized Lois wasn’t next to me.

I looked back and she was smiling.

“We’re having dinner, that’s all,” she said.

“Think of Jonas as an actor auditioning to get you to like him. That, after all, is what most actors are doing, no? So relax, it’s okay.” I didn’t feel at all relaxed and definitely not okay. We walked on in silence.

Not long after we were back in the apartment, there he was, holding a bag of donuts.

The afternoon is a blur. He and Lois chatted about people and things I didn’t know. Every once in a while he’d look at me and smile. A sleepy, soft smile. I started sketching them both. When I’m on the subway drawing people, I try to read personalities from the way they cross or don’t cross their legs. Men and women 96

are very different. Lois was on the couch, lying on her side, legs folded, her cheek pressed against her hand. Jonas was in the armchair, legs straight out, planted about two feet apart.

His arms hung down over the sides of the chair.

The only thing I read from this: they were both ready for a nap.

I was so absorbed in my crosshatching I didn’t realize Jonas had gotten up and was standing next to me until he cast a shadow over my sketch.

“There’s a gallery opening tonight. Pencil work. Interested?”

“Me?... I mean we ... I ... I mean—”

“Jamie, sweetie,” Lois said, “you can stay over here tonight. Call home and tell them. I’m going to a poetry reading, but I think you’ll enjoy the pencil-art exhibit more. And Jonas,” she said in a mock serious tone, “be nice to my cousin.”

With his eyes half-closed, Jonas stood waiting for my answer.

I nodded.

“I’ll skip dinner,” he said. “See you later.” So I called home about staying over and Mom said fine and Lois went down to pick up a few things for dinner and I stayed in her apartment and read I don’t remember what and then I scraped 97

carrots and peeled potatoes and Lois made some kind of stew with everything and then we ate.

Do I sound nervous?

Jonas was coming “circa seven-thirty” he had said.

Lois kept saying, “I’m so glad you’re going to the opening. I’ve seen that artist’s work.

You’ll connect with it.”

She chatted about the artist, and I followed her into the bathroom where she put on make-up.

“You want to borrow my eyeliner when I’m done?”

I’d never used eyeliner. I never saw my mother use eyeliner. My aunt doesn’t use eyeliner. What kind of house did I grow up in?

“Sure,” I said, as if putting on eyeliner were an everyday event.

I figured she’d put it on and I’d watch. It was the beginning of an evening of deception.

“Eyeliner was first used in Ancient Egypt and in the Fertile Crescent area. I wrote a poem about it,” she said.

It’s amazing what I’m learning this weekend.

When it was my turn, I nearly stabbed myself in my right eye, but by then Lois was gone and I was on my own.

“Let me know what you think of the exhibit,” she’d said as she left for her reading. I walked 98

around the apartment trying to calm down. I’d stare at myself every time I passed the hallway mirror. Who was that girl with black-circled eyes, hair behind one ear, in front of the other? Lois had thought that looked interesting.

Everything made me nervous—looking interesting, Jonas looking the way he did, Lois smiling and calling me an artist.

At last he arrived and we left. As we walked down Bleecker Street, he took my hand and put it in his jacket pocket with his. “Put me in your pocket, Mike,” Katharine Hepburn had said to Jimmy Stewart.

The gallery was overflowing. Lots of men who looked like Jonas and nobody, I was sure, who looked like me. A long table at the end had several big jugs of red wine and stacks of paper cups. Baskets of crackers sat at the ends of the table. In between were large rounds that were definitely not Swiss or American cheeses.

I heard a woman say the dripping brie was deli-cious, and that’s how I learned the cheese was called dripping brie.

Definitely learning a lot.

Jonas handed me a cup of wine. It wasn’t his fault, really. On the way over I’d lied and told him about my eighteenth birthday and how the weather had been bleak but the time glorious.

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So I’d added almost two years, so what? Well, the “so what” is here I was with a cup of red wine in one hand, as common an occurrence for me as putting on eyeliner. The wine scratched my throat as it went down. Was it supposed to?

What did dripping brie taste like?

I never found out. Jonas had his hand on my shoulder and steered me through the crowd.

Every once in a while he’d stop and say hello to someone. The men usually ignored me, the women looked. Jonas said I’d just arrived in town. “Are you staying long?” one woman with a long black braid woven with colored ribbons asked. But she turned away before I had a chance to say anything. A couple of women gave me a quick sweep always followed by a slight smile.

I’m sure I didn’t pass whatever test it was. I didn’t think anyone ever looked you over from head to toe, but I guess that’s why there’s the expression. I felt woozy, and my stomach gurgled from the wine.

“Let’s split,” Jonas said softly in my ear.

His warm breath, the cushion of his voice—I ... I think his tongue brushed my ear. He tucked my arm under his, and I tried to keep my head up high as he led us through the crowd.

The silence on the street, a relief, was broken by a car horn blast. I didn’t ask where 100

we were going; I was just relieved my legs were working. We turned on a narrow street and went down several steps. Jonas pushed open a door.

The room was dimly lit, mainly from flickering candles. We were directed to a small table in a corner. A Chianti bottle in the center of the checkered tablecloth was covered with wax drippings. Jonas ordered two hamburgers and a half bottle of wine.

“I ate already,” I murmured.

He didn’t seem to care.

As for the wine, well.

Here’s the thing. I don’t know what time we left. I was sleepy and couldn’t stop myself from grinning on and off like a blinking neon sign.

I began to giggle uncontrollably. We climbed a thousand flights of stairs to his apartment, one room, foldout couch folded out. His clothes were dropped in a random pattern around the room. I desperately needed the bathroom.

“It’s mine only, so here’s the key.” Jonas sent me out into the hallway and pointed to a door with a poster painting of triangles that I think dripped green blood.

When I came back, Jonas was stretched out on the couch-bed. He shoved aside some magazines and patted an empty space. I sat down. He is great-looking. Very gently he pulled me down 101

next to him. He moved a few inches away and put his hands behind his head.

A little necking. Second base, that’s it. I can handle this, I said to myself.

“So,” he said.

“So,” I said back, feeling very clever.

He turned me on my side and held my face in both his hands. His lips were cloud-soft as he pressed me close to him. His hands swept my shoulders and down my back.

Then he was on top of me. He lifted my sweater and unhooked my bra.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t!”

I pushed. I said no. He kissed me. Hard. I twisted. I wrenched an arm free and punched. He laughed and held me down. I begged. I yelled.

And I watched it all from above.

Him and the Girl.

Her sweater comes off and She is on her back with Him on top. He presses her arms down. I rise up higher for a wide-angle view. The shades aren’t pulled down, but it is dark. The window faces a brick wall. It might be early morning.

You can’t tell.

Pan back to the couch. The Girl has her knees up and legs bent. The Girl tries to twist free. She spits at him. He frees a hand for a 102

quick moment and slaps Her. Then he holds Her in that position. He grunts. She looks straight up. Dull eyes. Open.

Then it was over. He rolled on his back.

I couldn’t move. I hurt like I’d been cut with a knife. Searing. I wanted to scream. I couldn’t make a sound.

“So it really was your first time. Some girls like it rough.” There was a smile in his voice.

“But you’ll learn to like it.”

I wanted to throw up. Why hadn’t he stopped when I said no? My head pounded. I slipped on my sweater and looked for my pants on the floor. He smoked and talked, asked me questions.

I wouldn’t speak. I wouldn’t answer. I had to leave. He kept talking.

“Why the rush?” He offered me his cigarette.

“First times are special.” He blew a smoke ring.

I left.

Outside I asked someone how to get to Lois’s street. It was still dark. “Can you tell me the time?” I said to the young woman who’d given me directions.

“One fifteen.” She hurried off.

Lois looked like I’d woken her up. “Hey kid, have fun?” She peered at me in the dark foyer, then turned and sat down at the kitchen table.

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She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?” All I could say was, “Tired, very tired.” She’d ask a question and I’d nod or shake my head. No words. If I opened my mouth, I knew I’d scream and never stop. Around two she went to bed and I curled up in a ball on the couch.

I lay there until light streaked through the blinds. Then I dressed quickly.

Lois brought me a cup of coffee, but I couldn’t take anything in. “I’ll come with you to the station,” she said.

I shook my head. She reached for me but I pulled away. How could she not have known?

I left and she didn’t try to follow me.

On the subway ride home, I nodded like people swaying in church. My prayer—please god, let nobody be home!

The door was locked top and bottom, a good sign.

For the time being, safe.

I took a shower, a very long one, and let the hot water beat on my face. Someday I’ll talk again. Then I went to bed.

104

MAY

19.

It felt as if it had happened yesterday instead of months ago. Memory floods will do that to you, I guess. I avoided Lois’s calls. She left a couple of messages with Mom, which I ignored. And I’d gotten the shortest letter I think Elaine has ever written: “My parents know.” I think I’d be happy if I never got another letter or phone call as long as I live.

At school I’d been working on yearbook sketches, so most days I brought lunch and ate in the art room.

Georgina and Kay had been rehearsing for the drama club play, and Carol had an after-school chemistry project. Not a lot of time to talk, which was fine by me.

Busy was wonderful.

At home everybody worried about Dad, but nobody said anything. He’d go on job interviews a couple of times 106