Begging for It

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  Marvin drags himself into the studio to install a dead bolt lock inside the door, so the female artists can feel safer working late. We even assemble a chart with the name and security answer of every artist renting space here, and Marvin hangs it beside the door so women can feel confident about who they’re letting in before they slide that dead bolt open again.

  Shay, Carmen, and I shop together for everything from groceries to clothes. Geordie and Arturo are both completely unsubtle about volunteering to run errands anytime after about three P. M.

  Even so, I’m unprepared for the most audacious attempt to protect me.

  It comes not quite a week after my huge confession to Geordie, on a night when he’s suddenly expressed this enormous, unprecedented interest in my “artistic process,” and wants to come along to the studio.

  “You’re actually going to guard us against the Stalker,” I say with my hands on my hips. “Right?”

  “And against any ninjas that might happen to stop by. Potentially also Bigfoot. I’m ready for anything, is what I’m saying. ”

  “Fine, but bring something to read. Because the ‘artistic process’ is duller than you’d think, and I doubt Bigfoot will put in an appearance. ”

  Sure enough, after a few hours, Geordie’s ignoring both my printmaking and Keiko’s work with her clay. He buries his nose in one of his law books and jots down notes for his next paper as an old Fiona Apple song plays on the radio. As I check out my latest print—deliberately messy, the sepia-colored ink gloppy enough to obscure a few details—my phone buzzes with a text. I check the screen with no expectations, but then my gut drops when I see the sender’s name: JONAH MARKS.

  Are you free? There’s something I’d like to talk about.

  He wants to get back together! No, he’s going to leave the country on a research trip, maybe going all the way to Japan or Antarctica for months. Or something’s happened with his family and he needs to open up to somebody who understands . . .

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, I remind myself. Deal with the facts.

  So I send: I’m at the studio, actually. Getting some work done.

  Can I meet you there?

  Oh, my God. Jonah can’t wait. That has to mean good news—right? When?

  I’m in the neighborhood, actually. I can get there in 5 minutes or so.

  OK.

  Heart pounding, I slide the phone back into my purse. “Uh, Geordie?”

  He doesn’t even look up from his legal textbook. “Hmm?”

  “Jonah’s going to drop by. ”

  That makes Geordie sit up. Even Keiko looks up from her vase-in-progress, then swears as it wobbles off-center and collapses. As she heads to the work sink area to wash off wet clay, Geordie says, “What do you want us to do? Stick around or get lost?”

  “I have no idea. ”

  In the end, Geordie stays put until Jonah arrives, which is only a couple of minutes later. I slide back the dead bolt, take a deep breath and open the door. But my efforts to prepare myself are useless. When I see Jonah for the first time in almost two weeks, my heart and my body both melt.

  “Hi,” Jonah says. He’s wearing a leather bomber jacket the color of good whiskey over a cream-colored sweater he bought on our trip in Scotland. His jeans hug him as sexily as ever. Yet what draws me to him the most is the quiet sorrow behind his eyes. I think he’s lost weight; I have too. He continues, “Are you here alone at night?”

  “Nope,” I say. This time, I’ll be the one who skips the hellos. “See?”

  With a gesture I point out both Geordie and Keiko. Geordie waves as I shut the door behind Jonah and slide the bolt shut again.

  Jonah doesn’t seem to know what to do with this. “Well. Okay. I guess we can talk here just as well. ”

  Geordie, for once in his life, is visited by the Spirit of Tact. “Oh, you know, Keiko, we ought to run out for some—baklava!”

  She frowns at him. “Baklava?”

  “Yeah! A craving just hit me. We can run by Phoenicia, and the coffee’s on me. What do you say?” Geordie claps his hands together, too cheerfully. “We won’t be long. Fifteen minutes, at most. ”

  Keiko looks from me to Jonah and finally catches on. “Right. Totally. Besides, I need some—things—that are, uh, not here. ”

  It takes all my strength not to facepalm. These two are subtle as a Category Five hurricane.

  Jonah’s gaze settles on Geordie as Keiko ducks into the bathroom to change out of her grubby pottery clothes. “So,” he says heavily, to Geordie. “You’re back. ”

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  This earns him a raised eyebrow. “What, as Vivienne’s boyfriend? You ought to know her better than that, mate. ”

  “That’s not what Jonah meant,” I interject. “We’ve spent a lot of time together, and—you know, forget it. It’s not important anymore. ”

  Geordie takes a deep breath. “She keeps secrets well, doesn’t she, Jonah? Personally I think she’s been asked to keep too many. So Jonah, you ought to know that I’ve recently accepted that I—I have a drinking problem. ” He hasn’t said that aloud to people outside the program very often; the words are still awkward for him. “Thanks in part to Vivienne, I’m in treatment. And she’s been putting in some friendship overtime, for which I’m profoundly grateful. ”

  Obviously Jonah’s taken aback, but he manages to nod. “ I’m glad to hear it. ”

  Geordie grins and nods toward me. “That your girl’s still your girl? Aye, but you’d better stop acting like an enormous git soon, or she’s likely to find someone better than either of us. ”

  “Hey. ” I appreciate what Geordie’s trying to do, but this is going too far. “I already have a relationship counselor. Who is an actual licensed counselor. ” Geordie holds up his hands in mock surrender.

  Jonah says to him, “I meant, I’m glad to hear that you’re—that things are going better for you. ”

  “Thanks. ” Geordie’s expression gentles slightly; I think this might be the first moment he’s liked Jonah at all.

  Keiko hurries out in a fresh T-shirt and jeans, Geordie grabs his keychain, and the two of them hurry out to Phoenicia. As soon as the dead bolt clicks into place, Jonah says to me, “You could’ve told me that, you know. About Geordie. ”

  “I try to respect people’s privacy. ” I hug myself, not caring about the multicolored ink stains transferring from my blue smock to my arms. “How are you, Jonah?”

  He shrugs as he slides his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket. “I’ve had better months. ”

  The master of understatement strikes again. “Do you feel safe? Are the police harassing you? What have your lawyers said?”

  Jonah doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “I’m following legal advice. Although I’m not on a leave of absence from the university, I’m working from home for a while. Documenting my whereabouts via webcam and my phone camera. Other than that, there’s not much to do. Listen, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. ”

  So, he didn’t come here to unburden himself. The wall between us still stands. “What, then?”

  “Where you’re living—I know you feel safe at your place, but it’s hardly secure. You don’t have a security system, or any neighbors close enough to hear if you called for help. ”

  You used to like that, I think but don’t say. “This is, what, you offering advice?”

  “I can do better than advice. ” Jonah takes a deep breath, then holds out an envelope.

  Hesitantly I take it and open the flap. Inside is a Northstar Roadside Assistance membership in my name, a card for a limo service, another for some movers, and—“Jonah, is this a lease?”

  “Another apartment building downtown, a few blocks from mine. Their security is even tighter; if I lived there, I wouldn’t be a suspect now. You’ll be completely secure. The movers have been prepaid for their services, including packing, so all you have to do is name the day. Since the lease is also prepaid for two years, you
can keep sending rent checks to your landlords as long as necessary, until they let you out of your lease. ”

  I’m so agog I can’t even come up with words.

  He continues laying it out, using the same demeanor his lawyers probably coached him to use with the police: unemotional, professional, and succinct. “I have an account with the limousine service; the number is written on the card. It would be better if you took that everywhere, but I realize you probably won’t, so—Northstar. Because you never got around to getting a roadside assistance service, did you?”

  “No. ” My mouth twists into an unpleasant smile. “So. These are my parting gifts? The payoff so you don’t have to feel guilty about leaving me?”

  Jonah’s eyes widen. He hadn’t even considered that, though on some level I suspect he recognizes it’s partly true. “I just want you to be safe. It’s been impossible to sleep, worrying about where you are, or what could be happening to you. When I think that you could be hurt . . . Christ, it drives me insane. ” He’s almost pleading with me. “Don’t you see? This is the only way I can still take care of you. ”

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  “No, it isn’t. You could take care of me the way I actually need you to take care of me—by being in my life, and loving me, and getting through this together. ”

  He turns his face away from me, and I realize he’s struggling for composure as hard as I am. Maybe harder. “I walked away for your sake, Vivienne; I couldn’t have done it for anything less. You’re the only one I’d suffer like this for. Nobody else, ever. ”

  “I don’t need your suffering, and I don’t need your guilty conscience. I need you. ” I laugh, though my throat is so tight the sound comes out all wrong. “Jonah, when I look at this stuff, I realize you’re trying to protect me. That you still love me. You thought of everything, and for what’s in your heart, thank you. But I can’t accept the apartment, or the limo, or any of that. ”

  “Just for your own safety,” he insists. “Forget about me. ”

  As if I ever could. “You’re substituting control for love, Jonah. It’s a bad road to travel down. I won’t go that way, and you shouldn’t either. Besides—in this world, no one’s ever safe. Not really. Haven’t we both learned that by now?”

  Jonah leans heavily against the nearest worktable; a ceramic cylinder filled with colored pencils rattles against the wood. “You won’t take any of it?”

  I look down at the paperwork in my hands, extract the Northstar card, and put the rest back on the table in front of him. “I’ll pick up the membership when this year ends. Thanks for that. ”

  Wordless and resigned, he nods. After he tucks the envelope back in his pocket, he casts his eyes around the studio. We are surrounded by copies of the etching on his wall, in endless colors and variations. What must he think I’m doing? Maybe he believes I’m obsessed.

  Jonah says only, “It haunts me too. ”

  Staring down at the Northstar card is easier than trying to meet his eyes. “Is it hard for you to look at the etching now?”

  “Yes. ”

  “Have you taken it down?”

  “No. I see it every day. ” With that, Jonah walks out.

  I follow him to the door only to lock it behind him. We do not say good-bye.

  Twenty-nine

  By now, Kip no longer needs foundation and powder to cover any bruises on his face. His lips are fuller than usual, and redder, though he informs all of us in the fine arts department that this is due to Sephora lip plumper, which is a steal at the price. Certainly there’s no further sign of injury. Kip said he would never go back to Ryan, and it appears he’s told the truth.

  But Kip’s sparkle hasn’t returned. He remains efficient, eerily well-informed, and as stylishly turned out as ever. Anyone who hadn’t met him before now would probably think he seemed cheerful. Only those of us closest to Kip can sense the weight he’s still carrying around.

  The day after Jonah’s attempt at relocating my entire existence, I bring half a bag of leftover baklava and set it on his desk. “The delicious baklava can be yours, if you agree to have lunch with me today. ”

  Kip pauses in his typing. His fingernails look oddly naked without their polish. “Is this from Phoenicia Bakery or some other, lesser source of Greek pastries?”

  “Phoenicia. ”

  “You know my weakness,” he sighs. It’s supposed to be a joke, but strikes too close to the bone. After a half second too long of silence, Kip continues, “Lunch, then. Twelve thirty?”

  “Got it. ”

  With March come midterms and the resulting frenzy of student activity, so neither of us has a lot of free time in the middle of the day. This is how we wind up at the cafeteria, a place I feel sure neither of us has willingly eaten in at any point in the past four years. The pizza slices seem safest; once we’re at our plastic table, insulated by the hubbub of undergrads around us, all we have to do is use extra napkins to dab off the grease.

  “Thank God I still have some of the baklava left,” Kip says as he tears the paper from his drinking straw. “Nothing less would ever get this taste out of my mouth. ”

  “It’s not that bad. ” I take a bite of the pizza to prove my point. Of course, it’s not that good either, but I don’t want Kip to derail this whole lunch by bitching about the food. I swallow and venture, “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Taking some ‘me time. ’ The men of Grindr will still be there when I return. ” His green eyes study mine. “What about you?”

  Never had it occurred to me that Kip might think he was the one who should be more worried. “I miss Jonah. I’m afraid for him. But I’m doing okay. ”

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  “Is that all there is to it?” He raises an eyebrow.

  These days, my ability to deal with bullshit is at an all-time low. “Basically, yeah. Because I’m being brief, but I’m being honest, which is more than I can say for you. ”

  Kip sets his pizza back down. He stares down at the table instead of meeting my eyes. “I’m done with Ryan. He’s done with me. But I still feel so fucking stupid. ”

  “You weren’t stupid! How could you have known?”

  “When I met him at that bar? I couldn’t have. After he slapped me the first time? Which by the way was for complaining when he woke me up for sex. Yes. I could have known I was in a bad situation. I could’ve walked out the door with my pride. Instead I stuck around for a storyline straight out of Mary Worth. If Mary Worth had gay people in it. ”

  Is Mary Worth that comic strip with the meddling old lady? Not worth asking. I say only, “It’s easy to write stuff off, the first time. To think it’s—an aberration. An accident. ” Or to tell yourself that the other person didn’t understand how you would feel, the way I decided, the morning after my rape, that Anthony must’ve thought I wanted to have sex with him.

  “He’d had a bad night at the bar. A bunch of frat-boy shitheads got drunk, and one of them vomited in the john, and Ryan had to clean it up. Once we’d calmed down he said he’d just been relying so much on my comforting him when he got home. He had all this pent-up anger and didn’t mean to take it out on me. ” Kip sing-songs this as he uses his straw to fitfully stir the ice cubes in his plastic cup of soda. “I believed that, because I wanted to. ”

  I remember how built Ryan is. The first time I saw him, I wondered whether he might be a bodybuilder. Even a slap from him would’ve hurt terribly—and this didn’t end with a slap. Kip could’ve been injured far worse if he hadn’t left when he did. “You got out in time. ”

  “Time for what? To rescue my dignity? Not quite. ”

  “You still have your dignity. Come on, Kip. You’re not the one who should feel ashamed. That’s Ryan. ”

  Kip shrugs and leans back in his plastic chair. Above us, wall-mounted monitors play a mixture of school announcements, music videos, and celebrity trivia—obviously designed to appeal to “youth” by some group of marketing executives. “What I’m asham
ed of is not learning my lesson the first time. ”

  Never would I have imagined that someone as confident and in control as Kip could wind up in multiple abusive relationships. Never. And yet I have no doubt that’s what he’s just told me.

  As I sit there in mute disbelief, Kip stares out at the sea of students eating, talking, and playing with their phones. “Oh, I’ve never been smacked around before,” he says, too carelessly. “But when I was young, I ran into a man lots of young gay guys run into. The one with plenty of money, plenty of charm, and plenty of secrets. He wants you, but he also wants you to stay hidden, and he knows just how to gild the cage. ”

  Admittedly I’ve never thought about this scenario much, but I instantly see how often it might arise. “I guess it’s tough being with someone closeted. ”

  “Not necessarily. Well, I mean, yes, ducking behind booths at restaurants gets old. So does pretending to be ‘roommates. ’ That’s only trivia, though. Most of us go through that phase, honestly; sometimes it lasts months, sometimes decades. You understand it. What destroys the spirit is being thought of as someone’s dirty little secret. ”

  I never felt that way with Jonah, in the era when we told no one. But that’s the difference, of course—he was my secret as much as I was his.

  For a moment I remember him whispering to me outside a downtown bar, threatening and promising to back me against a brick wall and take me then and there . . .

  Kip’s voice brings me back to the here and now. “I got tangled up in that for a long time. When I escaped, I told myself, never again will I let anyone control me. But I did. ”

  “He didn’t control you,” I say. “You walked out. You drew a line. ”

  “I suppose. ” He shrugs. “Nonetheless, as Austin Powers would say, my mojo is missing. ”