Page 133 of Playworld

“Do I look like a masochist?” she said.

“You look like a movie star,” I said.

“You’re so sweet,” she said to me, “unlike this one,” she said to Tanner. “Or this one,” she said, thumbing at Rob, who had returned and handed her a gin and tonic and nodded at both of us vaguely. “Plus he’s spoken for,” she said to him, “aren’t you?”

Rob sucked at his straw and shrugged.

“Where is Elsa, by the way?” she said to him.

“She’s meeting us at Studio later,” he said, and, producing a pack of cigarettes, offered us all smokes.

Later, in the bathroom, I held the walls to keep the room from spinning and, like some fool, walked home afterward through Central Park, pausing for a minute in Sheep Meadow to appreciate the skyline.

“Paris,” I mumbled as I swayed, “is always a good idea.”

Then I barfed my guts out on the lawn.

On Monday, Amanda hugged me at the open door of the garret apartment. She was wearing her school uniform. Her skin was still tanned from the summer. Her hair was lighter than I remembered. Suzy lay in the same position as the last time I saw her: belly on the floor, chin on her hands, close enough to the television to reach the antenna. Amanda sat on the corner of the couch and patted the cushion next to her. If there were any remnants of my hurt and anger from my visit in Westhampton,they were revealed by my hesitation before taking the seat next to her. When I did, she turned to face me and crossed her legs on the tiny sofa.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” she said. And if her keenness and excitement weren’t disarming enough, she added, “Not since you came to see me last. Oh my goodness, I wassomean to you. You probably hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said. “I’m really sorry.”

Here, my mother’s voice spoke through me. “I accept your apology,” I said.

“Tell me about the rest of your summer.”

The rest of my summer. I have given a lot of thought to how I must have reported on myself, on the events of my life back then. Because I still lacked the language to describe what had happened to me. I told her that my parents had separated and had mostly been apart since July. I didn’t explain to her why, in part because the reason was cloaked in shame and I couldn’t say exactly what was going on. My father had been on tour when they split, so I’d gone to live with friends of the family. I told her my father’s show had premiered and spectacularly failed. That I’d finished Griffynweld. When she asked to see, I produced one of myD&Dnotebooks from my book bag and showed it to her, because that was the sort of young man I was; and she, at times, was the sort of young woman who took the time (but almost only when we were alone) to look at my maps and drawings and admire them. “This is so amazing,” she said, flipping through the pages, and meant it. And she didn’t. Because she too was driven by other impulses. And she needed me to play a certain role, one I was coming to understand. Still, I was determined to get to something more solid. I had made a decision, after all.

“I was hoping you’d let me take you to the premiere ofTake Twoat the end of the month.”

“Really?”

“You can hold my hand during the scary parts.”

“I thought it was a comedy.”

“You can hold my hand during the funny parts.”

I reached out my hand to her, and she took it.

But Iwasdifferent, I had changed, at least a bit, because I leaned in, slowly; I pulled her toward me and she let me kiss her, properly. And she kissed me back, not briefly. Long enough, rather, for the both of us to know what actually kissing each other was like. It was, as Oren might have said at that moment, Old Testament: itwasgood. To me, at least; I cannot speak for her. And then she touched my shoulder and, like Naomi used to, gently pressed us apart.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

“Why?”

“I’m still dating Rob.”

I thought for a moment about how to respond to this, knowing what I knew, and then said, “I thought he’s at college.”

“He is, but we’re still seeing each other.”

She waited. And here the relentless hope and dedication in her expression reminded me of my mother.

“Break up with him,” I said. “Date me.”