Sex as a Second Language

“Well, why don’t you come out and hang with me? The lasagna won’t mind.”

  “If I go out, I’ll never know just how late Steve made it in,” said Marcy. “Why don’t we get together this Sunday, for your birthday? Or are you still planning on ignoring the day completely?”

  “How about I see you and Zandra Saturday night, instead? That way you can punish Steve, see me, and I can still pretend my birthday’s not happening.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll call Zandra now.”

  Kat hung up and paid her check. As she gathered up her containers of Rejuvenatrix skin-care products, a small slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Kat leaned down, assuming she had dropped the skin-care instructions.

  And then, reading the page, she realized it had nothing to do with skin care, after all. Kat crumpled the note in disgust and dropped it into her bag. Unsafe my nearly forty-year-old ass. She wasn’t sure what game her father was playing, and she decided that she didn’t really care. If he didn’t have the guts to show up and face her, then to hell with him. She had too much going on in her life to waste her time trying to decipher his motives.

  chapter eighteen

  m agnus wasn’t sure which was harder, spying on Katherine or figuring out transitive verbs. Stealing a glance at Luc’s paper, Magnus decided that grammar beat espionage, hands down. After all, he’d managed to follow Katherine into that Turkish restaurant last night without being detected, but he had no idea what the hell a transitive verb preposition combination was. And how was everyone else knocking out five of them? He was the native speaker, for crying out loud.

  “Okay,” said Katherine, “let’s go through the questions together. My gorgeous new sunglasses, a mysterious brown package, his strange old neighbor. What do you notice about the first adjective in each example—Magnus?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the question,” he admitted.

  “Do you want to venture a guess?”

  Luc was regarding him out of the corner of his eye, as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue and it was killing him not to be able to say it. Chieko and Maria both seemed to be smirking, Galina was raising her hand, and Nabil was looking off into the middle distance as if he wished he were somewhere else entirely. In short, it was like being back in high school. “Sorry.”

  Katherine smiled at him, looking distracted. He noticed that she had taken particular care with her appearance today, twisting her hair up and back and wearing a black knee-length skirt instead of jeans. Still, she did not look well. There were dark shadows under her eyes and she seemed to have some sort of rash on her cheeks. “Luc, how about you?”

  Well, at least there was one other person in class who wouldn’t have the right answer. But to Magnus’s shock, the Frenchman responded promptly. “The first one is an opinion.”

  “Very good. The subjective judgment comes first.”

  Luc’s smile was irritatingly smug, thought Magnus, noting that those were both subjective adjectives.

  “All right, class you can put your quiz sheets away.” Katherine leaned against her desk and Magnus wondered what she’d been doing, alone in the restaurant last night. Had she been stood up by a man? That might explain her wan appearance this morning. Or could she have made some plan to meet with her father? If so, Magnus wondered why Ken Miner hadn’t shown up.

  Shit, could he have been spotted? Maybe he was equally bad at grammar and surveillance. Fred had been extremely pleased to hear that Magnus was going to be moving into Katherine’s apartment, but had told him that they now had an extremely tight deadline. It was just announced that new elections would be held in Kyrgyzstan in less than a week. If he hadn’t made any progress with Ken Miner before Oybek’s position became official, he might as well start looking in the want ads.

  “So,” said Katherine, drawing his attention back to the here and now, “I want to continue with yesterday’s discussion. Galina, how did it go with you? Whom did you speak with in the museum, and what did you find out?”

  “Well, it was strange, really. I saw a woman with a very nice pair of shoes, and you said to find out some information.” Galina sounded faintly accusatory. “So I went up to her, and I said, Hello, I like your shoes, where did you get them and how much did they cost? And do you know what the woman did? She just sniffed at me and walked away!”

  “Okay, this is an excellent chance for us to talk about what sorts of questions Americans consider rude.” Katherine began to pace the room, looking so animated that everyone in the class sat up a little straighter. “Remember what Luc was saying about Americans telling you all kinds of intimate information right off the bat? On the one hand, Americans are extremely informal and very willing to tell strangers all kinds of things, but there are also topics that Americans consider off-limits. And they might not be considered taboo subjects in your country. In general, I’d advise you to never ask anyone how much they earn, how much they weigh, how old they are, or how much they paid for something.”

  Galina raised her hand. “But what if you really need to know the answer to one of these questions?”

  Katherine considered this for a moment. “Well, in that case, what you can do is ask an indirect question, such as, ‘How much do legal secretaries earn?’ or ‘What does a blouse like that cost these days?”’

  Galina’s hand shot up again.

  “Yes, Galina?”

  “So what do I do if I see a woman with problem skin? Will she be insulted if I ask her if she needs a facial? Because I am completing my cosmetology degree. I also cut hair,” she added.

  You should get your money back, thought Magnus. Who would want a beauty treatment from a dumpy, dough-faced woman in a wig?

  To his shock, the answer seemed to be Katherine. “You’re a cosmetologist?”

  “Almost. Three more weeks.”

  “Can I speak to you after class? I used a new cream last night and I’ve had this terrible reaction.”

  “I noticed. Come to my house after class. I will give you a special rate.”

  “Wonderful. All right, class, I have homework for you. If you can, I’d like you to watch an American soap opera, paying particular attention to the kinds of questions people ask and the reactions they receive. The shows are on in the afternoon, but if you have cable, there’s a station that replays them all night long. All right, everyone, see you tomorrow.”

  Magnus realized that if Katherine went to have a facial now, he would have the next couple of hours free to poke around inside her apartment and find any correspondence between herself and her father. Trying to hide his excitement, Magnus averted his face as he packed up his books.

  “So,” said Luc, “have you moved in on her yet?”

  Magnus ignored the younger man’s insinuating tone. “I’m bringing my things over later today.”

  “Let me know if you need any help. That was very clever, by the way, what you told her. Now you make yourself a challenge, like a priest. Women love priests, especially if they are good-looking.”

  “I’m not a priest,” said Magnus flatly.

  “But of course not! That’s why I think you are so clever. I must try this technique myself.”

  Magnus glanced over at Katherine, worried that she might have overheard them. Luckily, she appeared to be deep in conversation with Galina. “It’s not a technique,” he said, nearly growling with irritation.

  “Ah, no? Quel dommage,” said Luc, looking completely unconvinced. And then it hit Magnus that if there was one thing the French knew, it was seduction. Maybe, thought Magnus, I just did something right after all.

  chapter nineteen

  k at knew that some women enjoyed being groomed and happily devoted entire days to the minutiae of taking care of themselves. Personally, however, she just felt irritated by the whole intrusive, time-consuming process. She’d already spent an hour with various food-based masques on her face, she smelled of sour cream and avocado, and she was dying to get out of Galina’s airless Brooklyn apartment. Unfortunately, she
had stupidly agreed to have her eyelashes dyed black, which meant an additional twenty minutes of sensory deprivation.

  Used to having too little free time to sit and relax, Kat had forgotten what it felt like to be so bored you wanted to scream.

  “I tell you, Galina,” she said, “when you think how much time and energy we put into staying beautiful, it makes you wonder. Maybe this is the reason women don’t rule the world yet.”

  “On the contrary,” said Galina. “Women know how important appearance is. In Ukraine, when the president wanted to get rid of his political opponent, did he try to kill him with poison? No, they give him instead dioxin, make him look ugly, with pustules and big nose.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “Look at your television set! Everywhere now is makeovers, with plastic surgery and hair dyeing and teeth bleaching, and all because people look just to appearances. You want to rule the world? Use your appearance to fool people, but don’t be fooled by appearances.”

  Spoken like a woman who’d been burned. Kat wondered what Galina’s story was—she dressed like an observant married Jewish lady, but she had the uncompromising air of a person who’d been living alone for some time.

  Out loud, Kat inquired, “How much longer now?”

  “Not long. Rest now, is part of the treatment.”

  Kat tapped her fingers on the armrest of the chair, wondering how much time had elapsed. She should have left after the moisturizing treatment, which had involved a bowl of something that looked like borscht. Who cared if her eyelashes were perfectly dark first thing in the morning, anyway? It wasn’t as if Magnus were going to be sneaking out of her bed at daybreak.

  Kat cleared her throat. “Galina? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” Galina’s husky voice came from across the room. “It’s only been three minutes, Katherine. Try to relax.”

  Kat found herself wondering whether or not her student had moved into the maid’s room yet. Now that it was really happening, she was having a few second thoughts. What if she and Dashiell had an argument in front of him? Would she ever be able to wander into the kitchen in her nightgown again?

  Of course you will, said a snide little mental voice. He’s celibate, remember? He doesn’t care if you walk around in four-inch heels and a thong.

  And that was probably a blessing in disguise, because she was more than a little drawn to Magnus. She’d forgotten that desire could be as unpredictable as gardening, some initial seeds of interest never taking root at all, others shooting up right away before dying abruptly, and most inexplicably of all, a rare few lying dormant before growing steadily stronger. And that kind of attraction was never purely physical. When you acted on it, you didn’t just get laid, you got involved. A very bad idea, all around.

  But why was the man celibate, anyway? If it were for medical reasons, that was one thing, but if it were simply that he was sick of dealing with women, then maybe he might change his mind. Kat certainly thought he could change hers. Suddenly, Kat’s eyes began to burn and she realized she was beginning to open them without thinking.

  This was the problem with sex, thought Kat. It annexed huge sections of your mind, diminished your mental capacity, and for what? About fifteen disappointing minutes between the sheets.

  Kat shifted restlessly, drumming her fingers against the arm of the chair. What else was there to think about while she waited here in the dark? The fact that Logan still hadn’t replied to her last email? Kat’s eyes were stinging again; she was furrowing her brow. Think of something else.

  Kat tried to think of her favorite movies, but instead found herself imagining how famous on-screen couples would wind up, if you could follow them past the last frame of the movie. Zack and Paula from An Officer and a Gentleman, for example. How long before Debra Winger’s character got sick of her naval aviator husband’s abusive temper and lack of social skills? As for Richard Gere’s Pretty Woman character, Kat figured that fairy tale would end with an iron-clad prenup that he would terminate a month shy of the deadline. Working Girl Tess would find that her business merger marriage began to break down as soon as she had a kid. Tom Cruise’s Jerry Maguire would be showing the money, the effort, and the charm to some other woman.

  Now Kat’s left eye really hurt. “Excuse me? Galina? I think it’s time to rinse my eyes off.”

  There was a peculiar, sticky sound as the Russian woman moved across the linoleum floors in her rubber-soled prison-matron shoes. Kat waited as Galina leaned forward to examine Kat’s eyelids with white, cotton-gloved hands. “One more minute. The lashes will last longer if the dye sits for the full time.” Her breath on Kat’s cheek smelled hot and slightly bitter, like tea.

  Kat wondered if coming to Galina’s apartment had really been such a good idea. How did she really know that the woman was a qualified cosmetologist in her country, anyway? Kat should have maxed out her credit card and gone to Georgette Klinger.

  “Try to relax. Talk to me,” Galina said. “It will distract you. Tell me about the man.”

  Kat took a deep breath and tried to unclench her eyelids. “What man?”

  “Please. You pluck eyebrows, you wax chin. There is a man.” Something about Galina’s resigned, world-weary tone made Kat feel about sixteen, a reckless innocent about to make a foolish mistake. She flashed on a memory of Magnus holding her hand, then dismissed it.

  “Actually, there isn’t any man in my life right now. I’m trying out for a role—I’m an actress as well as a teacher.”

  “So you don’t have suddenly some man in your life? I thought that maybe you do this for Magnus or Luc.”

  “Oh, God, no! They’re my students,” said Kat, managing to sound completely offhand.

  “But they are interested, no? I see that they are pursuing you.” Galina made the last word sound almost sinister.

  “Luc is the type to flirt with every woman he meets, and Magnus probably blushes when a nun walks by. Listen, my left eye is really starting to hurt, Galina.”

  “That is because you keep blinking. Relax the eyes, Katherine. It is just vegetable dye, not harmful.” There was a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Just two more minutes.”

  “But you said one more minute two minutes ago!” Oh, Jesus, did she even know what she was doing?

  “I look, I see the dye needs a little more time. Trust me, this is not my first time doing this. Try to relax. Tell me about yourself. You grew up where in the United States, in New York?”

  “Well, my family lived in Barcelona and Rome for a little while when I was growing up.”

  “Really? What did your father do?”

  Kat hesitated. “He worked for the State Department,” she admitted, certain Galina was going to have a lot of opinions about this. “Listen, about my eyes…”

  “Yes, yes, almost done. So your father was a spy, yes? Are they still married, your parents?”

  Kat decided on taking the path of least resistance. Not responding to the spy comment, she said, “They divorced when I was a kid.”

  “Typical. Probably your father cheated.”

  Kat didn’t bother to contradict her, and Galina took this as agreement.

  “It is always the way. Because if you are used to having double life, suddenly to be having just one identity feels too confining. You must experience this as an actress, no? When you are just wife, mother, teacher, you disappear a little, you get lost. But when you play a role? Suddenly, in this false self, you are more alive, more interesting, more honest.”

  “I do know that feeling,” said Kat, startled. She hadn’t articulated it before, but that was what she missed most about acting: the ability to lose herself and find herself at the same time.

  “This is why married men and women have affairs. Not for sex. For the pleasure of keeping something hidden, separate from ordinary life, just for you.”

  “The commonest thing is delightful if only one hides it,” said Kat. “Oscar Wilde.”

  “You sound
like a woman who might have a secret or two of her own,” said Galina, with satisfaction.

  Kat decided that she’d had enough. “Okay, I really need to get this dye off my eyes now.”

  “You are moving too much. Wait, I get the bowl.” She sounded disappointed. “Here.” A plastic bowl was pressed into Kat’s hands, along with a damp cotton balls. “Rinse the eyes. Don’t try to open.”

  Kat looked up with her eyes still closed. Warm water dripped down her cheeks. “Is this all right?”

  “More. You said your eyes sting, so use plenty of water.” Kat could feel the intensity of Galina’s gaze on her. “So, about your father. You are closer to him, or to your mother?”

  Kat kept patting her eyes with the wet cotton balls. Galina, she realized, would have fit in perfectly with her grandmother’s old friends, who felt that age had given them the right to ask anything of anyone, and had unshakable faith in their own opinions. Now that Kat thought about it, her grandmother’s social circle had all originally come from Russia. “I really don’t want to talk about my father anymore, Galina.”

  “Of course, I understand completely if it is too painful.”

  “It’s not that it’s painful, it’s just that I really don’t have much of a relationship with him.” And at this point in my life, I don’t want one. Kat thought about the note the Turkish waiter had delivered last night. You are being followed. Meet me this time Sunday. Tell no one.

  But Kat had no intention of showing up on Sunday to meet her father. First of all, the man was clearly not right in the head. Who would be following her, a demented fan with a fixation on old soaps? Second of all, her father clearly had absolutely no idea that Sunday was her fortieth birthday, and the thought of spending even part of that day with a parent who was completely out of touch with reality was not exactly appealing.

  “By the way, you shouldn’t admit that your father was a spy,” said Galina, her tone severe. “I don’t want to hurt you, but Americans are very naïve about such things.”