“That’s not fair. I have meetings at night, and they’re strictly business,”
She covered her mouth as she yawned. “I’m going home to take a nap,” she said, standing. “We can talk more tonight on the way to class. What time shall I pick you up?”
Through the window, I watched several people walk by, their voices sounding as though they were submerged in a fish tank. “I’m not going,” I said, avoiding Laurie’s eyes.
“But tonight’s our last class. Henry promised us a live model. You don’t want to miss that.”
“I can’t go.” I had little doubt Darla would follow through with her threats if I spoke to Henry again. And who cared about a dumb drawing class? I had more important matters on my mind.
She scrutinized my face. “You don’t look so good.” She slid back on the chair and scooted it close until our knees were touching. “What’s wrong? Is it Tim?”
“We’re not dating anymore.”
“You poor little thing. What happened?”
“It was my idea, and it may have been the stupidest move of my life.” I pictured myself dining alone at a restaurant at the age of ninety. “Tim was upset, but he seems pretty resilient.” I affected a weak laugh. “When I called him this morning to make sure he was okay, he sounded happy as a clam. Seems he dropped by his old girlfriend’s house on the way home from mine. Guess they got back together.”
“That does it, you’re coming tonight. You don’t want to miss your last chance with Henry.”
“All he wants from me is friendship—which is for the best.” If that were true, why did it hurt so much to say it? “Thanks to Phil’s big mouth, Henry won’t even want me for a friend anymore.” I stared at my hands in my lap. “Anyway, I’m not good enough for a man like him.”
She tossed me a look of disbelief. “Not good enough? You’re perfect.”
“I’m anything but perfect. There’s so much you don’t know about me.”
“I don’t need to know any more about you. I love you just as you are.”
Stephanie sauntered by and stopped short when she noticed me. She knocked on the door, then let herself in.
“A Darla Bennett just called for Lois,” she said, handing me a slip of paper with Darla’s telephone number written on it. “It sounded important. I told her the person who was handling Lois’s sales would get right back to her.”
I reminded myself of a lioness stalking its prey as I waited inmy car for the source of all my problems—Phil. Parked in the lot behind his five-story apartment house, I turned off the engine and listened to it die. Sitting in silence, I recalled the day Phil and I attempted to reconcile—almost a year after our breakup. I’d felt naive optimism as I entered his slummy one-room apartment in the University District and thought how miserable he must be living there by himself. Scanning the open cupboards, I saw no trace of alcohol, and the room smelled as though it had been recently scrubbed. He’d prepared a lunch of tuna sandwiches served on paper plates, which I found sweet, and we dined sitting on the couch. He told me how much he needed me. “You’re the only woman I’ll ever love,” he’d murmured in my ear, his breath feeling like a spring breeze.
After lunch he’d opened the couch into a double bed. He’d gently pulled me onto it, and I’d relaxed in his embrace, remembering how much I cared for him. I’d clung to him, never wanting to leave the safety of his arms. Several hours later as I prepared to go, I noticed something made of shiny black fabric lying on the floor between the crack of the couch and the mattress. I reached down to find a pair of women’s panties. My hand shaking with fury, I flung them at him. Then I stormed out the door.
That pathetic scene still made my chest sink, as if Phil’s barbed hook remained lodged in my heart after all these years, pulling me back in time. Maybe it was possible to be addicted to another person, I thought, but after today I would finally be free.
Phil’s Saab sailed into the parking lot. He got out and, with a spring in his step, headed for the building’s back door. The sight of him looking so cheerful ratcheted up my fury another degree. Eighteen years of harbored bitterness rolled back into place like an army deploying for battle. I vaulted out of my car and followed him.
“Phil!” I yelled.
His face showed friendly surprise. He pulled open the apartment house door, and I brushed by him, my elbow hitting his arm. I marched up the stairs and around the corner to his familiar door. I’d been to his apartment a few dozen times to pick up Rob, back before he could drive. Each time I’d been reminded of what a slob Phil was: dirty dishes stacked high in the sink and piles of cigarette butts collected in the huge ashtray he’d made in ceramics class in college.
As he fit the key in the lock, I felt like Mount Etna ready to spew off its lid.
He turned the knob and opened the door wide, as if welcoming a long lost relative. “After you,” he said.
I felt disoriented—as if I’d never been here before. Instead of smelling a haze of secondhand smoke, I inhaled clean air enhanced with a hint of lemon. Ahead, the walls were freshly tinted buttermilk yellow, and cream-colored molding ran along the ceiling and floor.
