Love Show (19 page)

David and Justin hit it off right away. Three days later,
they were seemingly inseparable.

“Hey, chica,” David called when I
walked in. They were making lobster risotto, which was ridiculous, but knowing
David, it would be amazing.

I was glad to see them both. Jack
had started to freak me out a little bit. He finally texted me
Co
ngrats
,
but he hadn’t wanted to see me for the past two days, and I started wondering
if he was regretting asking me to his formal this weekend.

It didn’t help that he chose to go
missing the week that my father started calling me religiously. My mother had
told him about the job. So obviously he wanted to talk about it.

He largely wanted to persuade me
from going to Syria. There was no chance of that working, but my dad was
persistent and he seemed to think I owed him not one but twenty-two
conversations on that matter.

I’d mostly kept my phone shut off,
trying to avoid his unwanted calls, and every time I checked it, my heart
plunged a little bit deeper seeing that Jack hadn’t bothered to call me or text
me.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired,” I said.

“Sit down and have some
bruschetta.”

I smiled at David.

“It will solve almost all of your
problems,” David promised. “How many times did your father call today?”

“Seven.”

“Ah, I’m seeing a downwards trend
there,” David said. “Tomorrow, he will only call six times. At this rate, by
next week, you won’t hear from him at all.”

I rolled my eyes at David. That was
very like my father—brief periods of intense attempts at discussion, followed
by long interludes of complete silence.

“How many voicemails?”

“Three.”

“Are we listening or deleting?”

“We are deleting,” I said, going to
my voicemail box and deleting them without giving them a chance.

“Give me that,” David said, holding
out his hand.

I handed him the phone. He put it
in the refrigerator.

“What?”

“Go over there. You don’t need this
thing torturing you.”

“So you’re going to chill it?”

David shrugged. “Seems like a good
strategy to me.” He looked over at Justin. “Give her some scallions to chop or
something.”

Justin smiled shyly at me as I
stood next to him. “I can’t believe he’s letting you cook with him. He only
lets me do this when I’m in the midst of a crisis.”

“Actually, I don’t know if I trust
her with the scallions, Justin,” David decided. “She can wash the tomatoes.”

Justin made a face and handed me
the scallions anyways.

“Good call,” I told him.

He nodded. “You’re still my
mentor.”

“Not in the kitchen,” David
groused.

I retired to the couch when I’d
finished with the scallions and sat watching reruns of
Keeping Up with the
Kardashians
.

“
How
long does risotto take?
I’m starved,” I complained. “Can I order pizza?”

“Sure, if you don’t value your
life,” David snapped.

“Do I have time to take a shower?”
I asked.

“Oh, you have time to take a half-hour
bath if you want.”

“This better be amazing.”

I hummed in the shower, fantasizing
about pizza, and about my bed. And, if I was being really honest, I fantasized
about Jack calling me back and apologizing for putting me on edge. He had invited
me to his formal. He had invited me to meet his family. And then he’d
disappeared.

It made no sense. I felt like one
of those stupid girls in a bad movie who had missed an obvious sign, but I
couldn’t figure out what the sign was.

I came out of the shower and ran a
towel through my hair and walked into my room to get dressed. I turned on the
lights and screeched when I saw a man sitting on my bed.

“Calm down,” Jack said. “It’s
just—”

“Jack, what the fuck?”       

He shrugged. “Your roommate’s
cooking dinner for his boyfriend, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Where the hell have you been all
week?” I asked, catching my breath. “And why wouldn’t you turn on the lights?”

He smiled mischievously. “Well, I
thought it would be sort of funny to scare you, actually.”

“Well, I need to get dressed,” I
said.

“Also, your dad’s in the living
room,” Jack added. “Which is—”

“What?” I whirled to him. “How is
that
not
the first thing you tell me?”

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I
assumed you knew.”

“Shit. This is not good.” I sighed.
“Would you give me a second? I need to get dressed.”        

I pulled on jeans and a sweater and
walked out into the living room. What the hell was my father doing here?

 “Dad, what’s going on?” I asked,
walking out to the kitchen. He was sitting on the couch, studying his
Blackberry, and David was smiling bitchily at him while Justin was
unnecessarily cleaning the counter, looking very nervous.

“Hadley,” he said, getting to his
feet. “Your mother has been worried.”

My father always assigns emotions
to some third party whenever he does something that requires an explanation.

Your mother was worried. The doctor
was hysterical. The speed limit was being completely melodramatic about safety.

“Well, there’s nothing to worry
about.”

“What’s this whole business with
Syria? And why haven’t you returned our phone calls?”

“This whole business with Syria is
that I’m moving there because I have a job there. It’s pretty cut-and-dry,
actually.” I smiled. “And I did return your phone call. And I think I told you what
I just said. And it was weird, because I got like so many voicemails asking the
same question I’d already answered.

“Well, why don’t we talk about
that?” he said. “Darling, let me buy you a nice dinner. You look—”

“Don’t call me darling,” I snapped.
I’d heard him call way too many girlfriends darling. I wasn’t sure what had
become of most of them, but I was his daughter. I, at least, should be
distinguished from all of the other women in his life. “And we have already
talked about it. We disagree.” David chuckled, grabbed Justin’s wrist and
pulled him out of our living room and into his bedroom.

“Look, Hadley,” he said in his
I’m
a serious international businessman
voice. He looked at me appealingly.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do with your life. But, I would
really
like to talk to you.” He hesitated. “And why doesn’t your boyfriend—what’s your
name?”

“I’m Jack,” Jack volunteered.

“Please, shut up,” I said to him
pleadingly. “I just—”

“Your boyfriend Jack can come,
too.”

“He is not my boyfriend.”                      

“I can come,” Jack said boldly. He
smiled. “Hads, why don’t you get dressed?”

I turned and tried to burn Jack
with my eyes. He just smirked, refusing to take the hint. I stormed into my
room. I could lock the door. I considered that for about five minutes while I
got dressed. The plan didn’t get much further than locking the door. And if my
father flew all the way here from London to see me, then he probably wouldn’t
object to taking the door off of its hinges. David had been through enough
dysfunction for one semester, I thought nobly, as I resigned myself to dinner.

“Syria is not up for discussion,” I
said when I emerged from my room.

“You look pretty,” Jack said
sweetly.

“Don’t talk to me.”

Jack laughed.

“Charming, isn’t she?” my dad said
to Jack.

“Completely,” Jack replied.

“What? Are you two idiots friends
now?” I asked sourly. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” 

They both laughed.

My dad had taken a chauffeured
Lincoln car, which may have seemed sleek and luxurious when there was just one
person in the back seat. With three of us, squished together, it was decidedly
inelegant.

We arrived at the restaurant, in
rumpled clothes and awkward silence. A table for three was arranged. Jack
leaned in and whispered into my ear. “Swanky place.”

“Shut up,” I hissed. Jack laughed,
obviously pleased with my discomfort.

As soon as the waitress handed us
our menus and disappeared, I met my father’s icy blue eyes. “You better be
ordering something strong.”

He laughed. “Relax, Hadley.”

“No. I’m not going to relax, although
I really do appreciate the suggestion. But I would like some wine. Please.”

He chuckled and Jack smiled.

“I’m glad you think the disaster
that is called my life is funny,” I said, more to Jack than to my father. My
father had always regarded the disaster that is called my life as a moderately
amusing hobby that he took up again every few months.

He called over the waitress and
ordered wine. And then, obnoxiously, he ordered filet mignon for everyone at
the table.

“Jack’s a vegetarian,” I said.

My father looked at Jack like he
had rabies.

“I am not a vegetarian,” Jack said
calmly.

My father exhaled as the sommelier
poured the wine. He took a sip. “Excellent, thank you.”

I downed my glass in one gulp.

“You’re really not supposed to
drink it like that.”

“It’s really unappealing, you know,
showing up unannounced and telling other people how to drink their wine and
live their lives,” I said. “Giving Jack a hard time for being a vegan.”

“I am
not
a vegan.”

“Well, you should be a vegan,” I
said harshly. “You should be something. I mean, what’s the point, Jack? You’re
just so bored by absolutely everything in your existence that you don’t want to
do anything?”

“Let’s not get personal. You had a
bad day,” Jack said

“Kids,” my dad said. “Hadley. Let’s
talk about this Syria nonsense.”

“There is no nonsense. I got a job.
A very good job. Practically my
dream
job,” I said.

“It’s not safe.”

“Lots of things aren’t safe,” I
snapped. “Driving a car isn’t safe. Going outside in a thunderstorm isn’t safe.
Crossing the street isn’t safe. But sometimes you have to go across the goddamn
street. So you ignore the fact that someone could hit you. And you carry on.”

“Those are not fair comparisons.
There’s no
reason
to go to Syria,” my dad said. “You can be a reporter
from practically anywhere in the world. I mean, look, Hadley, it’s a dying
field. And there is no good reason that you should die for it in a place like
Syria.”

“It’s what I want to do.”

“It’s not smart,” my dad said. “I
want you to reconsider.”

“I’m not going to,” I said. I
glanced at Jack, who was watching my father closely.

He probably was freaking out. When
I told him my family was kind of messed up, he probably never imagined he’d
have to deal with the mess. I couldn’t tell what the emotion in his eyes was,
though. It seemed like understanding, although I couldn’t tell if the person he
understood was my father or me.

“Do you know what happened to Lara
Logan in Egypt?” Jack asked softly.

I turned to look at him. I knew
exactly what had happened to Lara Logan in Egypt. She’d been sexually assaulted
by a pack of rioting men in Tahir Square. Most people who followed the news
knew that.

But that’s not what stunned me.

It’s that Jack said it.

At dinner with my father, which I
was making no effort to be civil at.

“Excuse me?” I said to Jack, who
barely met my eyes.          

“Exactly,” my father said. “Thank
you, James.”

Neither of us corrected my dad. I
stared at Jack in shocked betrayal. He looked down at his food and looked back
up to find me still staring. “I mean—Hadley, stop looking at me like that.”

“No.”

He took a deep breath. “She was
surrounded by cameramen. She’s someone who travels with security. I mean, she’s
on TV. The
Times
can’t protect you over there. I don’t think you have
any idea what you’re signing up for,” Jack continued, trying to explain why
he’d just taken my father’s side.

“Exactly,” my father repeated.

I reached blindly for my water. “I
don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“What?” he asked. “You getting
hurt?” I met his eyes for a long time before he looked away. “Seriously?” He
shook his head.

“After graduation? Why does it
matter if I’m in Syria in six months? You’re not going to see me after that.” I
spat it out exclusively for the purposes of hurting him. And I saw it work. I
saw him recoil.

He let out a short, shallow laugh.
“Right. Right. No strings. I got it.” He held his hands out helplessly. “This
is all just a game. This is all about the rules and—”

“You have no right,” I hissed. “You
have no right to interrupt something you know nothing about and—”

He nodded. “You know what? We’re
not supposed to have dinner together.” He pushed out his chair. “That was a
good rule. I forgot about that one. I’m going to go.”

He was walking out the door before
I could register that he might be mad at me. Or hurt. Or something. I watched
his shoulders. His bowed head. I wondered if he thought it was funny, or if he
was serious. He didn’t take anything seriously. I couldn’t imagine why he’d be
such an alarmist about Egypt.

“Hadley, he was only trying to
help,” my dad offered.

“He was trying to help you,” I
snapped. “That’s not help.”

He exhaled. “I don’t condone this.
And I won’t support it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said.
“Please. You really think I’d count on you for anything at this point?”

After that, there wasn’t much left
to say. He paid for dinner and he dropped me back at my apartment. He went
straight to the airport. And even though I’d been doing it for years, I
couldn’t totally suppress the twinge of guilt in my stomach, which had a lot
more to do with scaring away Jack than it had to do with disappointing my
father.