Love & Lies: Marisol's Story (15 page)

“I know. I give you permission to celebrate without me.”

Birdie’s excitement had reignited my own. I had actually been with Olivia last night. There had been some spectacular losing of so-called innocence, and who knew what might happen next? So Olivia wasn’t big on the romantic morning-after stuff; at least the night before had been unforgettable. As I sailed down the hallway, I passed Damon stumbling in the other direction. “Are there any doughnuts in the kitchen?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, if only you’d told me you wanted some,” I said, brushing the arm of his fleece bathrobe tenderly. “I’d have waved my fairy wand!”

He brushed his hair from his eyes and stared at me.

“Is she in a good mood?” I heard him ask Birdie.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Birdie said. “I think we owe Cupid a round of applause.”

*  *  *

By the time I got to Brattle Street, I was a wreck. Even though the weather was much cooler than it had been, and I’d been more than generous with my deodorant, my T-shirt was still pitted out. Man, I could have used a couple of those margaritas before class.

“Marisol!”

Gio was sprinting to catch up to me. “I thought I’d be late. The T took forever this morning.”

“Really?” I said, barely looking at him, thinking about walking into class and seeing Olivia Frost sitting there, her perfect legs crossed one over the other, wearing something silky that matched her extravagant hair.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look a little strange. Are you sick?”

“Just tired,” I said, probably unconvincingly. “Did you write about Provincetown?” I asked, to throw him off the trail.

“Yeah. I was surprised how much I remembered. Details about the way things looked and smelled. I set a scene on the breakwater and had the characters arguing. So they’re walking along this beautiful but precarious stone bridge while they’re trying to sort out their confusing relationship. I hope it works.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” I said honestly. “We should talk again. About writing, I mean.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to. I can have lunch today if you want.”

“Okay, let’s.”

And then there was nothing else to do but enter the classroom and look at her, crossed, silky, extravagant.

Olivia glanced up at us as we walked in, but didn’t give any indication that I was anyone special, a student she knew any better than the others. I was disappointed that Birdie’s prediction wasn’t coming true, but I knew Olivia wanted to be careful about this. After all, everybody in the class was probably crazy about her. Well, everybody except Gio. Still, having the secret was so exciting, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to act normally, speak in my usual voice, hide my smile.

Several students read the scenes they’d written during the week. The first one, by Mandy, missed the mark altogether. She had her characters sitting on a porch, which she described in as much detail as a home decorating magazine. They sat against Ralph Lauren pillows “with tiny elephants embroidered all over them” and talked about how they had always wanted to work in a zoo. I guess the elephant pillows and the zoo were connected somehow, but it didn’t come through. Olivia gently explained to Mandy what was interesting about the piece and what didn’t work.

The second writer to read was Cassandra Washington, the woman who “just knew” she could write, and her piece was not bad at all. She wrote about a long-married couple whose house had begun to resemble them, or vice versa. I wasn’t sure exactly what the point was, but the writing was strong.

And then Gio read, and his piece was really good. The tension between the two characters built skillfully the farther they walked into the ocean on the uneven stone path, until they reached the point where they could go no farther, and their arguing stopped and so did their relationship. I thought it was the best thing of his I’d ever heard, and I
waited, almost proudly, to hear what Olivia would say.

Her blank face revealed nothing. “That was clever,” she said. “A little obvious, though, don’t you think? The bumpy road of life?”

Gio looked pale. “Well, I—”

“Of course, a lot of people like cleverness,” she continued. “I just think you could have tried a little harder to come up with something unique.” She turned to the class, and then to me. “What do you think, Marisol?”

“Me? Well, I liked it. Especially the way the couple got angrier and angrier as the rocks got more slippery and harder to walk on.”

“And yet, the piece doesn’t make a very subtle point, does it?” Olivia stared straight into my eyes.

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like she was telling me what to think. The whole class, everyone but Gio, was staring at me, waiting to see if I’d dare to disagree. Finally I stuttered, “Well, I don’t know. I guess it could have been more subtle.”

It was close enough to agreement; Olivia smiled her approval. “John, you obviously understood the assignment, but I do feel you’ve taken the easy way out. Next time, put a little more effort into it, okay?”

Gio nodded, but he looked depressed. He
had
put effort into it—I knew that. And even the two pieces before his, the lousy one and the mediocre one, hadn’t gotten such a personal thrashing from Olivia. I decided it must be because she knew he was actually a better writer than they were and she was challenging him. At lunch I’d tell him that.

In a few more minutes, after Hamilton Hairdo and Mary
Lou were finished, it was my turn to put my neck on the block. After what had happened to Gio, I was worried. What if she laid into me like that? I wouldn’t know what to say afterward. It occurred to me that this was a good reason not to date your teacher. Too late now. I took a deep breath and read.

When I looked up from the paper, Olivia was beaming. “Now
that’s
what I was looking for! That was brilliant, Marisol!”

Brilliant?
Really?

“I want you to read it again, and this time I want the rest of you to really listen to the way in which this piece works, how it grabs your emotions on so many levels—the demise of the building, the tree, maybe even life as Christina knows it. And yet change is relentless, whether for better or worse. I’m so impressed!”

The rest of the class stared at me again, some looking merely glum, others obviously pissed off that I was in the spotlight again. Gio kept his eyes on the table.

After the second read-through, Olivia continued her praise, which was totally embarrassing. I was sure no one knew what had happened between us, but I felt sleazy anyway. I mean, I thought my piece was pretty good, but was it really that much better than the others? That much better than Gio’s? I wanted to feel I could trust Olivia to tell me the truth about my writing, but now I wasn’t sure.

“Next week we’ll be talking about plotting. I want you to think about an incident you usually avoid remembering, or a time you felt really frightened or defeated. Or think of a fight you may have witnessed between two people you love. What lay behind these events? What is their meaning? Can you get
a story out of it? Remember,
the role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.”

Everyone shuffled out the door quickly the moment class was dismissed. Nobody said a word to me.

“Can I meet you outside?” I said to Gio. “I just want to talk to her for a minute.”

Gio glanced at Olivia and then back to me. “Sure,” he said, and I wondered if he was figuring out the whole situation.

The minute the classroom was empty, Olivia walked over to me and put her arm around my waist. “Hello there, my star,” she said. “I was hoping you’d stick around a few minutes.”

Her touch on my back was enough to render me momentarily speechless, but I struggled to get the words out.

“I wanted to talk to you about what you said about my piece. Did you really like it that much?”

She laughed and cocked her head so that her hair drifted from her shoulder onto mine. “Would I lie to you?”

“No, I didn’t mean that, but I wondered if you were exaggerating just a little. I mean, I didn’t think mine was that much better than Gio’s. I mean John’s.”

Olivia pulled her arm away from me. “You know him, don’t you? From before this class, I mean.”

“Well, yeah. We met last spring.”

She nodded and smiled, enigmatically. “I thought so. You looked awfully cozy when you walked in together this morning, and you were talking to him at the Arts Festival, too. You’ve even got a nickname for him. Is this something I should know about?”

“What? No! We’re just friends, and I was afraid he might get discouraged by what you said. It seemed kind of harsh.”

She took another step away from me.
“It’s impossible to discourage the real writers—they don’t give a damn what you say; they’re going to write. And besides, you agreed with me, didn’t you?”

“Well, no, not really. I thought it was a good piece of writing.”

“Then you should have said that during class. I would have admired you for taking me on in front of the others, but whining about it after class is pretty cowardly, don’t you think?” She sounded almost angry, and it scared me a little.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m complaining about this now. I guess I just felt funny about how much you praised my work in front of everybody.”

“I meant what I said, Marisol. Do you think I only praised you because . . .” She looked around the room as though suddenly worried she’d be overheard.

“No, I didn’t think that. Don’t be mad,” I said. For a minute we just looked at each other like two sword fighters trying to guess where the other will strike, but then I could see Olivia calming down, and I relaxed a little.

“I’m not mad,” she said, a crooked smile breaking on her face. “I suppose this is why teachers shouldn’t fall for their students. The roles get confused.”

Her easy admission that she’d fallen for me took my breath away, then made me brave. I stepped close and took her hand.

“Will I see you this week?” I asked her.

“I hope so. I have a lot of work to do, but I want to see you, too. I’ll call you.”

I nodded. “Okay. And, um, I guess I should tell you, I’m not going to be in class next Saturday. I’m going to Provincetown with some friends—we have a chance to stay in this amazing place, and—”

Olivia dropped my hand, and her face darkened. “Is this a joke? You’re running off to Provincetown with somebody
else
? You’re going with
him
, aren’t you? That John?” Her eyes were sparking.

“No! I’m going with some friends—”

“You just said
he
was your friend.”

“He is, but I’m going with Birdie and Damon. My roommates. You met them, remember?” It suddenly didn’t seem like a good idea to mention that Lee was part of the traveling circus. If Olivia was jealous of Gio, the idea of me being in gay paradise with another lesbian was not going to please her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged out her annoyance. “If I’d known you wanted to go to P’town, I’d have offered to take you. There’s a guest house right on the water where I always stay.”

“Well, we could go there together another time, couldn’t we? Provincetown isn’t going to disappear.” I gave a little laugh, as if this had all been a silly misunderstanding.

I could tell she was trying—without complete success—to get her anger under control. “It’s not a good idea to miss a class, either. Every class is a lesson,” she said.

“I know that. I intend to do the assignment anyway.” I
moved in close to her again. “Maybe the teacher will give me a private lesson?”

Olivia turned away from me and pretended to look for something in her bag. “The teacher does not like being blown off, Marisol.” She sounded hurt.

“That’s not what I’m doing!” I insisted.

“No? It feels like it.”

“It isn’t! I mean, I hardly even knew you when I made these plans . . .”

“Well, you know me now, don’t you?” she said, turning to face me.

I wanted so badly to kiss her again, to make everything all right, but I didn’t dare do it here where someone might see us.

“I
love
knowing you,” I said, as close as I dared come to a declaration.

“Do you?” she asked, staring at me. For just that moment she looked completely unguarded, as if I could enter through her eyes and tumble into her soul.

Stunned, I said, “Of course I do. You know that.”

She nodded and looked away. “Okay. I’ll call you, then.”

“Call me soon,” I said as I backed toward the doorway. But she didn’t turn around again.

When I got outside and saw Gio waiting, I panicked a little. I certainly didn’t want Olivia to come out the door and find me standing there talking to my “friend,” of whom she was already suspicious.

I grabbed Gio’s arm, startling him. “Let’s go!” I said. “I’ll explain later.” I pulled him around the corner and we kept running until we got to the Bombay Club.

O
F COURSE
G
IO WANTED TO KNOW
what the hell we were running away from, but I managed to sidetrack him for a while with deciding which window table was the best, and then with my thoughts about every entrée on the menu. Once we ordered, I segued into a monologue on Indian women’s clothing, pointing out some of the lovely saris and other silk outfits that floated past us.

“I like those pajama-like things,” I said. “But I watched somebody put on a sari one time. No way could I ever wrap myself up like that every day. A sari is really just one huge piece of material,” I continued, giving him the details of the pleat and tuck technique as though I were the local sari-wrapping expert. Somehow I managed to keep up this patter until the food arrived. Unfortunately, I couldn’t talk and eat at the same time.

“Don’t think you’re getting away without giving me an explanation for that hundred-meter dash through Harvard Square,” Gio said as he dove into his chicken biryani.

I exhaled slowly. There was a lot I needed to talk to somebody about, and Gio was right here, willing to listen. If we were really going to be able to be friends, maybe this was the time to test it out.