Veil of Roses (25 page)

I
t is early the next morning. Maryam has broken the news to my parents. Ardishir has booked my return flight to Iran. And, with their kind urging that I should collect some last-minute memories, I find myself with my classmates in a rented minivan on the way to Lake Havasu City.

It is a long seven-hour ride. Edgard, our driver, pushes the button on the van’s CD player to play Woody Guthrie’s track number four, “This Land Is Your Land.” It is fun the first time, and we sing along the second and third times as well, but after that we groan in protest and he ignores us and plays it perhaps literally one hundred times. Agata and Josef bicker. And Eva tells me every dirty joke she knows and explains each to me in excruciating detail.

But once we arrive, the fun begins. We park the minivan near the London Bridge and have a Strongbow cider beer in one of the English pubs in the fake-London tourist village. I look forward to telling my girlfriends in Iran that I not only visited America but a little bit of England, too. A replica, anyway.

Josef has rented for us a thirty-six-foot houseboat that comes with its own captain. It’s amazing. Here we are in the middle of the Mohave Desert and there is this huge blue-green lake nestled in the canyons. It’s a man-made lake, and I think this says so much about the American spirit. Give them a desert, they turn it into a lake.

We tour the boat, touching everything. None of us has experienced such luxury before—there is even a Jacuzzi on deck! This boat has three stories and three bedrooms and is bigger than my home in Iran. Josef points out all the amenities, but he doesn’t need to worry about
me
overlooking anything. I have left Ardishir’s camera at home, but I tuck everything into my heart, to draw on later. I know this trip will be over all too soon.

After we inspect the houseboat, we head upstairs to the sunshine. We line up side by side at the front of the boat as the captain takes our picture before setting off to find us a private cove to anchor for the evening. I smile at Eva beside me. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun. I fill my lungs with this fresh air and I luxuriate in the moment. I reach for Eva’s hand and she squeezes mine.

“Come on,” she announces to everyone. “Let’s drink some more beer.” We pass the afternoon playing blackjack and throwing fishing lines into the water. Edgard and Josef catch three fish each, which the captain agrees to grill for our dinner. The others change into their bathing suits and go swimming off the side of the boat once we arrive at our private cove. I do not join them, for I don’t know how to float. At least, I don’t think I do. I may have learned as a child in America, but I would have forgotten as a girl in Iran. And so I cling to the side and shout encouragement to my friends. The sunlight glistens on the waves.

When they tire of swimming, Agata and Josef disappear for a period of time. They come back up to the deck wearing thick terry-cloth robes. Later, Edgard and Carrie disappear for a time.

“They’re going to have sex, you know,” Eva leans over in her deck chair to inform me.

She is so predictable. “Good for them, Eva.”

“Hey, let’s have our next beer in the hot tub,” she suggests. “It’s getting chilly up here.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever taken a hot tub before?”

I laugh. “You know I haven’t.”

“Then come on. You’ve got a lot of firsts and lasts yet to do before you go back.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“I brought an extra suit for you.”

We descend to the bedroom we are sharing. She ruffles through her bag and tosses me a swimsuit.

“Here, it’ll match your cowboy hat.”

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. It’s a pink bikini.

“What’s wrong?”

I stare at her in wonder. “Did I tell you about my mother? About how she wore a pink bikini like this when she lived in America?”

Eva shakes her head slowly, realizing that for some reason, this is a big deal for me.

“Eva, my mother wore a pink bikini!”

“And…?” She looks at me like,
Yeah, so what?

“I should have married Masoud,” I say miserably, and sink onto my bed.

Eva shakes her head in disagreement. “He’s an
asshole
. You did the right thing. I’m just sorry I even got involved. If it wasn’t for me running that stupid personals ad, you’d be married to Haroun by now.”

I have to laugh. “Who would have thought Haroun would turn out to be the keeper?”

We share a laugh at his expense. But it is short-lived. I pick up Eva’s pink bikini and smooth it out on my leg. It’s tiny. Tinier even than the underwear I have on.

“You know why I quit teaching in Iran?”

Eva shakes her head.

Tears well just thinking about it. “I couldn’t do those ceremonies anymore. I got sick for days every time I had to help a girl get ready.”

“What ceremonies?”

“When a girl turns nine, our school officials hold a ceremony for her. It was my job to prepare her. I had to dress these girls in a white
hejab
that covered their whole bodies.”

Eva swigs her beer. “There’s nothing to cover at the age of nine!”

“I was to tell them to listen carefully to the religious men who would speak to them in the ceremony, who would tell them that from this day on, they cannot run about freely. They cannot laugh too loudly; they are not allowed to play with boys anymore except for their brothers. They must cover themselves anytime they go out in public, anytime they will be around men.”

My voice drops to a whisper. “I
hated
it. Every time I wrapped those white
hejab
around them, I felt like I was smothering whatever it was that was special about them, whatever hopes and dreams they had.”

“Maybe you were just telling them to tuck their dreams away somewhere safe, for when the day came that they could live the life they choose.”

I hand the pink bikini back to Eva. There is no way I can wear it.

“That day will never come,” I say bitterly. “Not for them and not for me.”

T
he next day, Agata and Josef announce they want to leave Lake Havasu City and make the two-hour drive to Las Vegas and get married, with us as their witnesses. They tell us they have already booked our hotel rooms at The Venetian.

“Now-a you can tell-a everyone zat you visited America, England,
and
Italy!” Agata tells me, as if she were doing this all for me.

“I have to get back,” I tell her regretfully. Las Vegas is in the other direction from Tucson.

“We can get back tomorrow, can’t we?” Edgard asks hopefully. He turns to me with a pleading look. “I’ve been wanting to go to Las Vegas ever since I got to America, Tami.”

“Let me ask my sister.”

“Don’t ask her,” Eva instructs. “Just call her once we’re there.”

I really want to go. I really want to see Las Vegas, the City of Sin, with Eva, who has tried so hard to corrupt me.

“Maryam’s working today,” I tell her. “Maybe I could leave a message for her at home.”

Eva grins. “Maybe you could.”

I tell Maryam in the message that there has been a slight change of plans, and I am sorry but I am going with my friends to The Venetian in Las Vegas and I will not be home until Wednesday night. I hang up the phone and smile broadly at Eva.

She winks at me.

And off we go.

F
or all of us, this is our first time in Las Vegas. I am sure we look like the new-to-America tourists that we are. Collectively, we view the extravagance of Las Vegas with a mix of delight and disgust. Agata informs us that the energy required to run the Dancing Fountains at Bellagio for one hour could feed a family of six in Poland for a month. Edgard tells us that the tips collected in one hour by a gondolier at The Venetian could vaccinate an entire village in Peru.

I walk arm in arm with Eva. The minutes are ticking by. I feel an intense need to keep her close, to touch her and bask in her laughter. I am certain I will never meet anyone like Eva ever again.

Ahead of us walk Josef and Agata, also arm in arm. Suddenly they stop and Agata points to a wedding chapel up the block.

“Zis ees eet!” Agata declares.

Danny wrinkles his nose. “An Elvis Presley wedding?”

“Love me tender, love me sweet,”
Josef croons to Agata. He sings very off-key.

They take each other for a-better and-a zee worse, in seeckness and in-a zee health, for as long as zee both-a shall live. We clap as Elvis pronounces them husband and wife and we cheer as they kiss and walk down the little aisle out of the chapel to the tune of “Burning Love.”
A hunk, a hunk of burning love.

While they are off consummating their marriage in the next room over, the four of us break out the champagne and hold our own little party while we wait for them to join us for a celebration dinner.

Eva knows how to keep a party fun. She turns on the country-music video channel and teaches me some more line dancing. Edgard and Carrie practice their two-step. The four of us have great fun toppling into one another often as we try to dance between the beds and the television. I relish the unrestrained laughter of my friends, and I want very much to keep it going, to hold this day in my heart forever.

So when Eva urges Carrie and me to learn her new pole-dancing moves, for once I am willing. For once, I will not be the spoilsport. We have no poles, of course, so we only pretend we do. Feeling fuzzy from my drinks, I tip to the side three times in a row as I try the bend-and-thrust and fall against Carrie each time. Finally, she and I fall to the floor, howling in laughter while Eva pole dances by herself. Edgard sits on a chair at the desk and covers his eyes in mock horror.

I am in the middle of a gulp of champagne when there is a knock on the door. Eva slinks her way over, dancing suggestively the whole way. As she opens the door, she yells, “I hope you did a pole dance for your new husband, or you’re going to have to do it right here, right now, in front of all of us.”

The rest of us laugh at her. But then I see her laughter turn to confusion, and when I look past her, I see the reason why.

It is not Agata and Josef who are at the door.

It is Ike.

Finally, finally, there is a knock at the door and it is Ike.

I
t is Ike, and I have been drinking, which causes me to think that nonsensical things make perfect sense. That is the only reason I can imagine why it suddenly seems smart to throw my champagne glass at the table five feet away, to dive across the bed and to roll off it onto the floor by the window and try to hide from him.

This might have worked if it was pitch black in the room and if he hadn’t already seen me. But it’s not and he has and so this is a really stupid thing to do.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” He stands in the narrow aisle between the bed and the window, looking down at me in disbelief.

“A clever trick?” I offer.

He shakes his head and smiles at me.

“I’m going back to Iran on Thursday,” I tell him.

“So I heard.” His eyes are burning blue.

“This is my going-away party. We were pole dancing. Right, Eva?” I pop my head up so I can see over the bed, and find everyone looking at me like I’m crazy.

“Focus, Tami,” Eva orders me. “Ike came all this way to see you. Maybe he has something to say.”

“Oh!” I exclaim, and turn to him. “Did you come here to see me?”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

I consider this. “I might be.” I think a little longer. “Yes,” I decide. “I’m almost certain that I am. Would you like a drink, Ike?”

“Oh, my God.” He laughs. “You’re trashed.”

“I am not trash!” I say indignantly.

“You have
no
tolerance.”

“I am very tolerant!”

He turns to Eva. “How much did she drink?”

Eva shrugs. “Not much. We only had two bottles between the four of us, and the second one’s still half full. She’s just a lightweight.”

Ike looks back to me with an amused expression. He holds out his hand. “Up you go, Drunk Girl.”

I reach for him and yank playfully, just hard enough that he loses his balance and falls on top of me. We are wedged into a very tight space and I have never had a man on top of me like this and all I can do is laugh and laugh. Ike pushes himself up so he can look at me. His face is inches from mine.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he asks.

I giggle. “You have big nostrils.”

“Jesus Christ.” He springs back up and crosses to the other side of the room. All of a sudden, the strangeness of the situation hits me and I try to shake the fuzziness from my brain.

I get up from the floor, stand up straight, and smooth my skirt and sweater. I look at Ike and the others while I pat down my hair. Everyone looks so serious.

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask him.

He tilts his head and looks at Eva. Eva’s eyes twinkle back at him.

“Eva, did you arrange this?”

She shakes her head, not taking her eyes off Ike.

Ike turns to me. “Maryam came to see me at Starbucks.”

My heartbeat quickens to the point that I feel I might pass out. I am instantly sober.

Ike motions me over with his pointing finger. “Come here, Persian Girl.”

I shake my head and look at the others. Carrie sits on Edgard’s lap. Eva leans against the dresser with her arms crossed. She makes big eyes at me and gestures with her head toward Ike.
Get over there,
she is telling me.

I swallow hard and reluctantly start over to him. He meets me halfway, takes my hand, and leads me to the bed. We sit side by side, our legs touching. It is all so very awkward. He holds my hand tightly, like he never wants to let me go.

All I can do is fight back tears as I imagine what Maryam must have told him and how mad it must have made him to learn I lied to him the entire time.

But he’s here. He can’t be too mad. This thought alone keeps me from crying in shame.

After a long moment, he exhales loudly. His face is so pale, his eyes so frightened. This is a look I have never seen from him before.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on,” I say quietly.

He nods and takes a deep breath. Then he shifts on the bed so he faces me directly. It is like the others are no longer there. His eyes search mine, searching for I don’t know what.

“You should have told me,” he chokes out.

“I didn’t know how.” I swallow hard.

His eyes moisten. “This last week has been the worst week of my life.”

“Mine, too,” I whisper.

Ike reaches his hand to my chin and pinches it lightly. “Tami, don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

My heart lurches.

We are interrupted by a knock at the door. Eva rushes to get it and shushes Agata, who bursts into the room with Josef, ready to go for the dinner party we have planned. Agata’s eyes fall on Ike.

“Oh,” she murmurs, and pulls Josef against the wall so Ike and I can continue.

“That’s Agata and Josef,” I inform Ike. “They just got married.”

“Congratulations,” he tells them curtly, and turns back to me. “So let’s talk about us.”

I gulp a huge breath of air. Ike grips my hand and shakes his head. “I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you, Tami. I know we haven’t known each other long, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I love you. Totally and completely, I love you.”

Tears fill my eyes. He reaches for both my hands, and holds them so gently. He strokes his thumb across the back of my hand just like my father did when I was a child.

“I’ve never felt this way, either.” I can hear the ache in my voice. When you love someone, there is suddenly so much more to lose.

Ike lets go of my hands and stands, but only for a moment. When he drops to one knee and reaches for them again, my heart thunders.

I have seen this in the movies.

I know what comes next.

“I think maybe fate brought us together.” His sweet voice shakes. “I think all the stars were aligned in exactly the right way, you know? I mean, consider all the bad that had to happen in order for you to end up here, in Tucson, Arizona.”

I reach for his hand, bring it to my lips, and kiss it. My beautiful philosopher-poet Ike. He is trying so hard.

“We’re in Las Vegas, Ike,” I correct him, and ruffle his hair playfully.

He cracks up with laughter and his nervousness leaves him. I look to the others, who are laughing as well. And all of a sudden, I know for certain:
I am going to have laugh lines someday, too.

I look back at Ike. “I love you,” I tell him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He smiles and firms his grip on my hands. “Tami, I have something very important to ask you. Are you ready?” His face turns serious.

“Wait.” I pull him up off his knees so we stand eye to eye.

“Tami Soroush, will you marry me?”

His words are so simple, so earnest. We stand together as equals and he has asked me to marry him. I break into a broad smile. What a question my dear Ike has asked. Could he even imagine my answer would be no?

Over Ike’s shoulder, I look at my friends. Eva holds her hands over her mouth, waiting to scream in joy when I say yes. Carrie and Edgard clutch each other, tears of happiness running freely down their faces. My gaze rests on Agata and Josef, two people who have found true love again so late in life. Two people who know better than most that amid all of the horror of life, that amid all its pain, there can also be incredible beauty. They know better than most that love is not something to walk away from.

I turn back to Ike and crinkle my eyes into the sweetest smile I can.

“You were the first American man I spoke to, did you know that?”

He shakes his head,
No.

“You were! And I was so scared. I had to summon all my courage that day to ask for something so simple as a glass of water.”

He grins. “And I made you take that horrible iced tea you hated so much.”

I laugh at the embarrassing memory. But only briefly, for never has a moment been so important in my life.

“And now here you are, asking me to marry you. You are so brave.”

He squeezes my hands. I squeeze back.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that we met, either, Ike. I think I was supposed to meet you. Beautiful you.” I reach to stroke his cheek, touch his lips. I continue, softly, “You have such wonderful dreams and plans, and you’re working so hard to make them come true. I think I was supposed to meet you first so that you could remind me what it is to dream. And what a wonderful gift that is to give a person.
Thank you.
”

These last words come out in a choked whisper. For I was shrouded in white when I turned nine, too, just like those sweet girls I taught. And the dreams I smothered that day
must
be tucked somewhere deep inside.
They must be.
It is up to me to find them again.

“I want to marry you, Ike. I do, with all my heart. I want to stay in America and help you and support you as you make your dreams come true.”

His eyes well with tears. And I know he will wait for me as long as it takes.

“But I have dreams, too.”

He nods. “And I’ll make yours come true, Tami. I promise.”

He takes my breath away, Ike does.

But I have to make my own dreams come true.

“Ike,” I begin, but have to pause. There is a lump in my throat that my words cannot force their way through. I am dangerously close to becoming hysterically weepy.

Seeing this, Ike steps toward me, tries to pull me to him for comfort. But it is not comfort I need. It is courage. I must ask for what I want in life, or I’m never going to get it.

“One of my dreams,” I begin again, and again I have to pause.
Breathe.

“One of my dreams…”

“Say it!” Eva demands from the side of the room. “Just say it, already!”

I glare at her. I open my mouth to scold her for her rudeness, but then I realize that my anger toward her has given me the resolve I need. I turn back to Ike.

“One of my dreams is to live alone. All by myself.” I redden. “I know this may not seem like such a big dream, and maybe it is only a silly little dream, but there it is. I want to live alone.”

I have confused him.

“You don’t want to get married?” he asks.

“I want for us not to jump into everything so fast.” It is all suddenly very clear to me. “I want for us to date. Really, truly date. Go to dinner. See a movie. Maybe even dinner
and
a movie.”

He laughs. He remembers that day on Rose’s porch just like I do. And I think he gets it then. We have not even been on one official date and he has asked me to marry him, yet this is America, where dating comes first and then comes love and
then
comes marriage. And
then
come the babies in the baby carriage.

“I want to hold your hand and walk down the street with you and not be afraid of showing the world how I feel. I want to treasure every moment of falling in love. I want to learn how to kiss you without fear.”

He leans toward me. “I think you kiss pretty well already,” he whispers in my ear.

I kiss his cheek and step back.

“I want to make my own money and not have to ask anyone’s permission to go on trips with my friends. I want to maybe buy my own red scooter. And I want to live with you someday, when we’re ready. When
I’m
ready.”

I give him the biggest, bravest smile I have. “That is what I want.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Persian Girl.” His eyes have a look of tearful pride. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say
I want
before.”

Oh, my heart, my heart. It has leapt right out of my body and into his. I cannot remember a time I said the words
I want
out loud.

“When the only answer a little girl ever receives is no, from her parents or her teachers or her world, at some point she stops asking for what she wants. She begins to expect nothing, so as not to be disappointed when that’s exactly what she gets.” I exhale, shaken by my own realization. “But,” I tell him, “as it turns out, I do have wants.”

He smiles at me.

I grin back. “I have a lot of wants.”

“Good.”

I feel the sparkle in my eyes. “The bride wants to pick some flowers.”

There. I have made my declaration to the world.

“Then go,” my beautiful Ike encourages me. “Go pick your flowers.”

I break into a broad smile. I grip his hands and look into his ocean eyes, and I already know, before even asking, that his reply to me is going to be
yes
.

“Will you marry me, Ike? Under these conditions? Will you, please?”

And even though I already know his answer, it is very sweet to hear the words.

“Yes,”
he tells me. “Absolutely, I’ll marry you.”

The instant he says it, my friends burst into cheers and squeals and yells of congratulations.

“I love you,” I tell him firmly as I throw my arms around him. “I love you so much.”

We hold each other for a long time. When Ike finally steps back, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me gently on my lips. And I think perhaps it is the sweetest kiss the world has ever known.

The best part of what comes next: When we get married by the Elvis impersonator later that evening,
I do not wear a veil.