Substitute for Love (6 page)

“But Holly, it’s irrelevant. You acted true to your nature, I guess. I shouldn’t be disappointed.” He had another spoonful of cottage cheese. “It will take months, if not a year, to get your certification to teach. What will you do in the meantime?”

She was going to cry, so she turned her back and busied herself with the sink. “I stopped at the market. There’s pesto hummus.”

“Did you get apples?”

He didn’t appear to notice her choked voice. “No, I didn’t know we were out.”

It was his sigh that broke a wall Holly didn’t know she spent daily energy reinforcing. Quietly, she said, “Clay?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“Do you like the way the house is always tidy and clean? Do you like the way I keep the bills paid and our accounts in balance?”

“Of course.” His voice was muffled — he was looking for the hummus in the fridge.

“But it doesn’t count in the grand scheme of higher existence, does it?” She turned from the sink and met his gaze as he shut the refrigerator door.

“As we’ve discussed many times, no, they’re necessary evils. Tasks laid on us by an overextended society — paying taxes and interest charges—”

“The only interest we pay is on our mortgage.”

He paused, his teaching face in full evidence. Then he arched his eyebrows as if to inquire if she was done interrupting him. “I’m speaking in generalities. These tasks don’t make anyone a better person. If anything, they rob us of our essential humanity.”

Very quietly, she echoed, “Us?” A thought seared across her mind: This is all Jo’s fault.

“All of us.”

“But you don’t do any of those things. You taught me that doing one’s own household chores is a way to remain in touch with how much space you take up and how many resources you absorb as you go through life, but you no longer do any. And you haven’t written a check in at least five years.”

He cocked his head to one side, as if puzzling through an illogical statement.

“I do them all. I’m the one getting robbed of my essential humanity. Is it any wonder I can’t seem to get closer to your definition of Nirvana?” Her voice rose. God, she was almost shouting, but she couldn’t stop. “It’s better for the planet to fix things, but who’s the one who finds a place that will actually repair a hedge trimmer? Of course it’s better to mend a sweater instead of throwing it away — but when is the last time you threaded a needle? I work hard to help you live simply according to your values, but who does that for me?”

The patient smile — it put her back to the first class she’d ever taken in college.

Aunt Zinnia didn’t want her to be there, but short of defying the strong advice of both her high school principal and their minister, she couldn’t refuse the educational opportunities that Holly’s bright mind deserved. Holly loved the Irvine campus. She was only sixteen, and she was taking a sophomore-level calculus class. To balance the math, she was also taking “Age of Advertising,” a social criticism course. She was answering a question — Professor Hammond made her so nervous. He looked at her so intently. His patient smile said she was on the wrong track with her answer, but he would help her find her way. He listened to every word she said and even if her answer was wrong, she felt important to him.

Aunt Zinnia had made her feel twelve again, and now Clay was making her feel sixteen. Why was it Jo’s voice that persisted in her head? But how do you really feel, Holly?

“I need an answer, Clay. Who does that for me?”

“We all have our role to play, Holly. Everyone has their own part.”

Quietly again, finally hearing the edge to her voice, she said, “Are you saying this is my lot in life?”

“Holly, you’re getting all mixed up.”

He was crossing the room toward her, with that patient smile on his lips. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, and that smile, the compassionate criticism in his eyes — they no longer had the same effect.

He put his arms around her. “You made a rash decision, but I do know that when you give yourself a chance to think about your options, you will come up with a good solution. You’re very good at that.”

His hands were warm on her back. Was this her lot in life? He wanted her, which was uncharacteristic. He preferred the dark of night, after meditation, and with due consideration for her own precautions. Ever since her impetuous fling across his office and into his arms, he had decided when they would make love. His beard burned her throat, as it always did, and she had to dig down, a very long way, to pretend. It usually wasn’t so hard.

He mistook her gasp for desire and drew her into the bedroom. Feeling dazed, she turned back the bedclothes and removed all the layers she habitually wore: thick pullover, button-down shirt, jeans, knee socks, her underthings. He neatly folded his own sweatshirt and jeans and set them on the chair. He was in bed before she was, and she slid over to his side because he expected it. She didn’t know why she felt so dead. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t in the mood, but couldn’t begin to explain why. The rustle of the condom packet sliced like a razor on her nerves.

He mistook her gasp again — he couldn’t know that it hurt, a little, because she was not aroused. His elbow came down on her wrist and she suddenly felt as if they didn’t fit, not the way Tori and Geena had fit. The image of them clinging to each other with unspoken commitment and caring blazed behind her closed lids. She knew Clay would not be inside her much longer. It was getting easier to pretend.

It didn’t seem fair, afterward, that he would so easily drop off to sleep. She had too many equations clamoring to be solved.

She cleaned up and then curled on the sofa in her robe until her feet were like ice. She had thought she wanted to be an evolved being, the kind of person that Clay admired. She had thought he would help her get there. He likes the paycheck just fine.

This was all Jo’s fault. And Jim Felker’s. It couldn’t be hers.

Bed was warmer, even if she couldn’t sleep. She wished desperately for an electric blanket, but they were just one more way that the human animal lost touch with the natural world. She moved closer to Clay, who was always warm, and asked him, in that quiet voice with the edge she had not realized was anger, “So this is my lot in life?” He slept on.

Solve for the simplest answer. God, she was a fool. No one lets you grow up. You just do. She pushed her frozen feet under his legs and occupied her mind with volume equations where the constant was the bulk of her belongings and the variable was the number of boxes she would need.

Things did not seem so bleak in the morning. Sometime before dawn the rain stopped and Holly had finally fallen asleep. Clay woke at sunrise, as always, and was well into his yoga routine before Holly padded out of the bedroom. His rigid adherence to yoga had kept him incredibly limber. This morning, after such a bad night, the sight of his lanky but graceful form doing something so routine was comforting. He had always said yoga would help her both physically and mentally, but she never seemed able to find the time.

She made tea and tossed together curried tofu and chopped Boca burgers over leftover rice and carrots for breakfast. He joined her while it was still steaming.

He read the paper while they ate, and Holly thought about her impulse last night to call it quits. Where had that come from? They had eight peaceful and companionable years together. Why would she throw that over? Nothing from last night seemed at all clear.

“We should probably start around four,” he said.

She blinked at him.

“Though I suppose leaving work early is now moot. We could leave even earlier — get a jump on the weekend traffic.”

They were attending his department chair’s wedding in Ventura. She’d completely forgotten. Her Palm Pilot would have reminded her later this morning.

“I’m having lunch with Tori from work, but we could leave after that.”

He arched his eyebrows. “Why the lunch?”

“Moral support. To discuss our job prospects.” She shrugged.

“Were you friendly with this woman?”

“Not particularly,” Holly admitted. “She kept her private life pretty private. Which is why firing her for being gay was just so wrong. I told you about Diane, and no one ever did anything about it. Tori supports her father, too.”

“I didn’t think they had families.”

Dumbfounded, Holly could only stare. “Of course they do. Where do you think gay people come from?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“Tori is close to her father.” Unlike you, she might have added. “She visits him frequently and supports him. I assume from this that she is close to him.”

“I had no idea you were such an expert.”

“I’m not — but I’m not stupid either.”

His gaze grew sharp. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No, but that was, well, a stupid thing to say.” She refused to back down.

“Look, I believe that discrimination is wrong. Period. You know that. But that doesn’t mean that homosexuality is normal, either. Just like sado-masochism isn’t normal. It doesn’t occur in any animals except humans, which means it’s a learned behavior.”

“What does sado-masochism have to do with homosexuality?”

“Now who is being naive?”

Holly tried to think of Tori in chains and Geena wielding a whip and shook her head, smiling. “I don’t think it’s me. I’d be as surprised to learn Tori and Geena were into that as I would if it were… your parents. They just don’t seem the type. Besides, sado-masochism is not an exclusively homosexual behavior. And you have said yourself that consensual acts between adults are nobody’s business.”

“No one looks like their sex life.”

“I suppose that’s true. But I still think you’re wrong.” She was abruptly unsettled by the idea of how Tori and Geena made love… who kissed whom first… She shook it away. “And as you said, it doesn’t make discrimination against gays right. Did you know that Tori has to pay taxes on the insurance she gets to cover Geena? That just doesn’t seem fair. Because they can’t get married.”

“Why would they want to get married? I know we’re going to a wedding tonight, but I’ve never understood them. Why would anyone invite government intrusion into their private affairs?”

“Just because you don’t understand why someone wants something doesn’t mean they shouldn’t want it.” Holly cleared her dishes, not meaning to make them clatter so loudly. “Now that I think about it, I know I read somewhere that female elephants masturbate each other.”

“You’re going to have to cite your source on that one.” Clay finished his tea, looking as if he would laugh. He ran one hand over his short, dark hair. He always looked carelessly yet attractively groomed.

“Sorry, professor, I don’t have my notes.” Holly tried to sound lighthearted, but she was shaking way down in the pit of her stomach. “I just remember thinking at the time that an elephant’s trunk was a lot more flexible than I had ever realized.”

She recalled that she had bought strawberries the day before. She could use a diverting pick-me-up. She offered him some as well.

“In January?” He shook his head somewhat sadly.

All she had wanted was a taste of summer. It seemed like it had been raining for months. It had been a long time since she had lapsed — at least in what she had brought home. Clay didn’t know about the burger, the alcohol and all the sugar she had devoured yesterday. He would no doubt say they explained her erratic behavior, especially the craving for strawberries. Strawberries in January, as she ought to have remembered, was just another way to lose track of the turning of seasons. She would never be closer to the natural world — the only world that really mattered — if she continued to make her body believe it was summer in January.

It’s summer in Australia, an inner voice whispered seductively. It had to be Jo’s voice. Who else could it belong to?

“I’ll see you back here around three, then?”

She nodded, and he left her to the empty house and her now wooden strawberries.

“Thank you so much for meeting me today.” Tori had pulled into the parking lot of the little Italian restaurant just as Holly had gotten out of her car.

“I’m just glad it’s not raining,” Holly said as they walked toward the building in the chilly air. A handpainted sign read, “Tish’s Kitchen.” The sky had gone a watery blue with tinges of gray.

“It seemed like a good omen to me. Geena has to teach today and I was too depressed to think clearly. I was really glad to have something to look forward to. Otherwise I’d be in my pajamas eating ice cream right now, and probably watching reruns of The Avengers.”

“Doesn’t that sound decadent? Perhaps I shall try that on Monday.” Clay would disapprove. Screw Clay, she thought abruptly. Jo could not even begin to know the damage she had wrought, and Holly would never tell her. She did not want to seem like a weathervane, blowing whichever way anyone’s advice pushed her. She could think for herself. She ignored the “hah!” that seemed to come from deep inside her.

Solve for the simplest answer, she told herself. This… unsettled feeling — it was not Jo’s fault.

“Fortunately, this place is full of comfort food. I’ve known the owner for years.” Tori pushed the heavy door open and led the way inside.

“I’ve probably driven by here a million times, but I never noticed it,” Holly observed. Tish’s was homey and cheerful, with an open fire separating the bar from the small dining room. They chose a booth where they could see the fire. Muted Italian ballads added to the relaxing ambiance.

“Comfort food” was an understatement, Holly realized as she perused the menu. “Gnocchi in an alfredo sauce,” she pointed out to Tori. “Could anything be more comforting?”

“And more deadly to the arteries? I’ll split it with you,” she added with a laugh.

“That’s a deal. Can we also split the spinach salad?”

“Sounds great. A little virtue, a little sin, it all makes life worth living. You’re a vegetarian, aren’t you?”

“Most of the time,” Holly said. “Political and health reasons. My formative years were spent in a home where beef was the nightly entree, and I occasionally lapse. Shows what my willpower is worth.”