All the Trouble You Need Page 7
“May I kiss you?” he finally heard himself asking in a voice that seemed unlike his own.
Without hesitation she kissed him. A perfect intimacy, in a perfect setting, holding onto her, wanting to remember: her taste, the thickness of her hair as he ran his hands though it. Afterward, they walked hand in hand to the car. He wasn’t letting go of her now, touching her hair, brushing her arm as they drove to her house. There, she quietly led him through the dark house to the guest room behind the stairwell. She turned on the light and stretched out on the narrow bed. Again he froze, incapable of moving a muscle, but she took control, rubbing his shoulders, guiding him down next to her. There she kissed him again, passionately. Arousal finally thawed him. He ran his hands along her body, but they were on the wrong page. He realized she had drifted off. Now what? What to do, watch her sleep or . . . he leaned over and kissed her again. She woke.
“You’d better go. I’d love for you to stay but I’ve been home only three months. I don’t want to disappoint my parents so soon.”
Jordan sighed. “Last thing I want to do is get you in trouble,” he said, without conviction.
She walked him through the jungle-like living room to the glass door and waved good-bye. He watched her retreat up the stairs to the security of the second floor.
Only people with money could feel comfortable with the whole world able to look into their living room like it was some human aquarium, he thought. He drove home feeling elated at how well things had gone, but there was something else, an uneasiness. Afraid of a brutal landing, he didn’t want to fall any harder than he already had.
* * *
Christmas Eve anticipation of late-evening drives, weekend rendezvous at Pismo Beach Motel where they’d be too deep under the covers to find daylight or see a wave crashing against the surf, died pretty suddenly when Daphne didn’t show up for class. The five students who did come to class must have seen the disappointment in his eyes, or maybe they couldn’t because as they discussed The Makioka Sisters he craned his neck at all the footsteps echoing in from the hallway.
He dismissed them early and hurried to the car and drove like a fool to Hope Ranch, flooring it along those narrow roads until he reached her driveway. Now what? Roar on up to the house and rap on that stupid glass door until she opened it? Then he could shout like a madman, “Where were you!” or “One date and you’re ditching class?” Jordan gave up. He returned home and tried calling her but the phone rang unanswered. Maybe he read the date all wrong; what he thought of as the beginning of something serious meant nothing to her. Finally, it came time to meet Ned in the gym for a b-ball pickup game, but he had to struggle to resist calling Daphne, or taking another drive to spy on her house. Through an act of nerve-jarring self-discipline, he pulled himself from the phone. He’d wait for class to meet again.
* * *
Thursday. Two juniors and three seniors but no Daphne. This time he held class to the bitter end, and moped through office hours wondering just how silly he was to get himself in such a situation. No judgment, that was clear.
Daphne was nothing but bad news. How could he expect things to work out? It was like she was from some weird foreign country, where they did everything ass-backward—give play to the guy teaching your class, then blow him off. He should have been more wary, not silly and love struck right from the get-go.
“Excuse me,” he heard from the hallway. The last thing he needed was a student showing up to discuss a fucking essay, but then he looked up to see Trisha in a short skirt, smiling awkwardly.
“Hi, Jordan,” she said, uncomfortably at the threshold of the office.
He pulled a chair out for her.
“I’ve been meaning to call you but things have gotten really busy.”
“I know this isn’t any of my business but I heard you’ve found a new girlfriend.”
“Who told you that?”
“So, you’re not seeing anyone?”
“No, nothing serious.”
Trisha brightened at his reassurance.
“I want to invite you to dinner,” she said, shyly.
“That sounds great but I’ll take you. Make amends for being so flaky.”
Trisha kissed him good-bye. As he slid his arms around her, he remembered how good she felt.
“How about tonight?”
“Great!” she said.
After another brief kiss she hurried to class.
* * *
Jordan arrived home to find an expensive flower arrangement looking seriously out of place in the clutter of the kitchen table. The flowers were exotically unfamiliar, vibrant and intensely fragrant. Beside one particularly phallic-looking pistil he came across the card: “Sorry I missed class. Family crisis—will explain soon.”
Ned as usual was on the steps of their run-down bungalow, lost in the daily sketching of the Taco Bell across Milpas; one in an unlimited series, he liked to say.
“Ned!”
Ned ignored him and continued with the nearly completed sketch.
“You saw Daphne?”
Ned waved him away.
“I’m making art here. Talk to me later.”
“Ned!”
“Man, you just gotta know now?”
“Yeah, now.”
Ned sighed and put down his pad.
“She just dropped those flowers off, gave me a big sloppy blow job, and took off.”
Jordan laughed and clapped his hands together.
“So, what did you think? She looks good, huh?”
“I see why you’re so hot on her. She’s got some great legs, showing them off in that short-ass skirt, I mean, if you like thin legs. Yeah, she’s fine. Looks a little like Sade. Plus, she’s real pleasant. Not stuck-up like I thought she’d be.”
“Yeah, she’s not stuck-up. Flaky, yeah. Stuck-up, no.”
“What? She blew another class?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, she’s making sweet with you for that good grade without doing the work. See, that’s why you’re not supposed to be dating students.”
“Ned, I’m not giving her a grade. It’s pass, or no credit.”
“Still, a pass is something.”
“Yeah, right. It’s easy giving advice.”
“It’s easy to see she’s playing you.”
“She’s not playing me, she’s just . . . I don’t know.”
“Good. She wants you to call, and you can figure that shit out.”
“I’ll call her, but not tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“I’m seeing Trisha.”
“Cool, show some resolve.”
Jordan shrugged and returned to the house. He sat at the kitchen table, looking at the flowers. No one had given him flowers before, and it made him feel uncomfortable. He liked them, and he liked that she would do something so unexpected, but he wasn’t tempted to call. Daphne, as beautiful and fascinating as she was, had put a scare into him. Just like when he lost contol of the Triumph; he needed to get his feet back under him. Hell, he hadn’t even been seeing her long, and already he knew he was in love, but being in love with somebody shouldn’t make you feel your world was on the verge of exploding.
CHAPTER 7
This wasn’t how she wanted the afternoon to go. To her surprise, her dad wanted everybody home to discuss family business. She was on time and her mother wasn’t; because of that she sat trapped in the family room having to endure watching him puff an unlit pipe as he gazed through the sliding-glass doors at the shrub-covered hills of the San Marcos Pass. Wordlessly, that’s the word that summed him up and drove her nuts. If only he had said just a little about why this was so important. They just sat in silence. Finally, the sound of the door opening; her mom arrived a half-hour late, wearing a new, brilliant teal-colored waistcoat.
“About time!” her father said, with refreshing emotion.
Trisha, also irritated with her mother’s habitual lateness, couldn’t help admiring how she ignored her fath
er’s tone, smiled sweetly, and slid onto the sofa.
“I called Rob and Mark about this, and now I’m letting you know,” he began. “I’m resigning from General Electric.”
Now, this was something Trisha didn’t want to hear.
“Resigning? I thought you were looking forward to returning to work,” Lady Bell said, with concern.
“They didn’t give me the promotion.”
Lady Bell looked momentarily stricken before bouncing back to cheerfulness. Trisha could barely conceal her anger; what she thought would be a path straight to law school now seemed convoluted.
“They didn’t?” Mrs. Bell asked.
“They gave the vice presidency to some white jackass. Why is it that when whites pick their own, it’s fair, and if we get picked, it’s affirmative action?”
After a long silence, nobody answered, but Lady Bell brightened.
“Retirement is good. We’ll be able to travel.”
“I’m suing.”
“Suing?”
“Yes. Sue! It’s racism, plain and simple.”
How tense he is, even answering the simplest question, Trisha thought.
“Do we have the money for that?”
“Of course we do. If you stop shopping every day of the week.”
“I’ll get a job,” Trisha said, before she knew she was going to say it.
He nodded his response.
“We’ll have to cut back to weather this,” he said, disappearing into the den.
* * *
Trisha sat near the pool feeling bitter and overwhelmed. It wasn’t just her father retiring, but something else with him. She just wanted out, like her brothers got out. Leave it to Lady Bell and Pie to figure out what was up.
The phone rang, and in a moment Pie appeared at the kitchen door, gesturing at the phone in her hand like it was something filthy.
“It’s for you. It’s that David,” Pie said, frowning.
Trisha shook her head; she didn’t want to talk to him. Pie smiled evilly as she turned around and hung the phone up.
David had started coming by and hanging around the pool like he was staking a claim, and she was getting tired of it. It was just a joke. David was gay, and she had suspected it for a while; he just thought she was too naive to put it together. He had some master plan that only a man with a gigantic ego would consider; he needed it all, wife and kids and, of course, when he got around to it, a boyfriend on the side. That she couldn’t figure out, David’s need to appear straight. He was good for one thing, though—making Jordan jealous. David pissed him off in a big way. She needed Jordan in her life right now more than ever, but everything was complicated with him. Could she sleep with him? That was the biggest complication; unless she could give him that, she was sure their relationship was dead and he’d end up in the arms of another woman.
* * *
“Law school—it’s what I’ve wanted to do as long as I can remember, but now who knows?” Trisha said to Jordan, as he served her pad thai at the restaurant on Milpas.
“It’ll work out, but I wouldn’t let this stop you. Even if he can’t afford to send you, you could get support. Look at me, ten years of government support,” Jordan said.
Government support? Why should her father’s support suddenly be eroded, by what, his desire to resign, retire, sue? He was too young to retire.
“Look, if he sues and wins, you’ll be rich. GE has deep pockets.”
“But why now? The one thing he said is never explain or complain, just get the job done. So, I got the grades, the LSAT scores, and now I’m supposed to put it all on hold?”
“Something must have pushed him.”
“It’s always been like that. He’s worked all his life with white boys who have every advantage but brains. I remember going to his office and seeing a chalkboard covered in equations. My father spent the day solving problems for the engineers. He won so many awards, but they overlooked him time and time again.”
“I think you need to talk to him. Find out what he’s thinking.”
Trisha shook her head.
“He doesn’t communicate well. He’s like those engineers he instructs; words make them nervous. You know, I started off as an engineering major, did all the course work, but I gave it up. I like words; they calm me. Numbers don’t. They make me think of pencils and paper and sweating through tests.”
They ate silently until Jordan slipped his hand over hers and laughed.
“You’re so serious. It’ll work out. I stopped looking for support from my father soon as I was out of diapers.”
Trisha sighed.
“I know it just seems like I’m complaining. It’s just unfair that my brothers stayed in school for years, bumming around. Me, I’m in school for the minimum number of years, and I get shortchanged.”
“You can’t dwell on it. You’ll just get bitter.”
“So I won’t be bitter. I’ll put myself together, but you have to tell me about this new woman. Don’t deny it. You were seen.”
Jordan sighed, covering his face with his hands.
“I don’t have a new woman. What is this, a black spy network?”
“Yes. It’s the sista syndicate.”
“All I did was have coffee with a friend. We’re not seeing each other. That’s all that’s going on.”
“So, this friend happens to be a beautiful white girl with curly hair.”
“She’s not white.”
“She’s not? That’s news to me. Regardless, she dresses like she lives in San Francisco or New York and has money to spend. My spy said you kissed her good-bye.”
“Kissed her good-bye? That’s a lie.”
Trisha’s eyes flashed.
“Listen. I know you can see anybody you want. Plus, I don’t know where we’re headed anyway.”
“Trisha, I like you a lot. You’re very different from any woman I’ve met.”
“You just better be a good friend to me.”
“I am.”
“Then be honest. If you’ve fallen in love with this Daphne, just tell me.”
Jordan sighed.
“Listen, I might have had a little interest in her, but it’s over.”
“Well, I guess I have to believe you.”
Trisha paused. She knew he was lying but she didn’t want to fight with him.
“It’s a beautiful night. Do you feel like a drive?” she said.
He laughed.
“I guess I’m out of the doghouse.”
“That depends on how far you drive.”
“Pismo Beach, that’s thirty miles. Is that far enough?”
“We might never get back,” she said, and kissed him.
* * *
Jordan stopped at his house to pick up a contact case and condoms. He rushed into the living room where Ned rested on the couch watching a Star Trek rerun and listening to Les Nubians. Captain Kirk mouthed to soulful French singing.
“Going to Pismo with Trisha,” he said over his shoulder, as he hurriedly grabbed the few things he needed.
“Damn, you on a roll. Fine sister yesterday, fine sister today.”
“Yeah, I’m a pimp.”
“You dog. Don’t let her see the flowers. She’s gonna know Daphne sent them.”
“She’s waiting in the car. How’s she gonna know?” But as he said the words, Trisha opened the screen door and walked into the kitchen. Almost instantly she noticed the flowers on the book-covered kitchen table.
“Oh, those are nice and expensive. Who are they for?”
“Ned . . .” Jordan said, nervously.
“Ned gets flowers?”
Ned shrugged, poker-faced.
“He’s doing a still life,” Jordan said, but Trisha ignored him.
“Who is she, Ned? You’ve met somebody?”
“It’s for that woman I don’t know yet. I buy fresh flowers each week just in case I meet her.”
“You’re not serious,” Trisha said.
“Oh, yes I am
,” Ned replied.
“We’d better go,” Jordan said, leading Trisha outside, with Ned waving a little too enthusiastically behind them.
* * *
Trisha slid close to Jordan as he drove the Triumph north up the 101. Once they cleared the eucalyptus groves, the ocean unfurled, a calm, silvery seascape paralleling the highway. They reached Pismo Beach in thirty-five minutes but it wasn’t fast enough for Trisha. That engine sounded like a dozen blow-dryers pointed at her ears. Even with the engine off she heard a dull roaring.
Jordan hurried into the motel lobby. Alone, Trisha leaned against a wall to avoid the cold wind blowing in from the ocean. She didn’t feel the same confidence she had felt earlier. What if she did it and it didn’t keep him? What if he ran straight back to this new woman?
He returned after a few minutes with the keys and wrapped his arms around her.
“Man, it’s cold tonight,” he said as he led her to the room. He opened the door to a room with furniture so old it was hip again. Jordan rolled about on the bed.
“I love sleeping in motels, hotels, whatever. I get sleepy just thinking about sleeping.”
Trisha busily hung the few clothes from her suitcase and arranged her things.
“We’re gonna be here until morning, and you’re hanging clothes?”
“I always hang clothes. I can’t sleep if I don’t.” In truth, she was just glad to have something to do. Finally, she headed for the bathroom to change. Jordan poured the wine and set out the condoms. He had a couple of glasses while the minutes stretched to a half hour, just enough time to start thinking about deflowering, devirginizing, busting the cherry; whatever it was called. It was too nerve-racking. Coming in third or fourth was best; too much pressure taking that first giant step for mankind. With Mary there was negative pressure; he was hard from the moment they were within shouting distance. Trisha, now this meant something. It meant he drank half the bottle of wine before she opened the bathroom door.
She came out, backlit nicely, in a Chinese silk robe, open along the front to reveal a red teddy. Despair hit him square in the groin. This was a mistake. She curled into bed next to him. He handed her a glass of wine from which she took only the briefest of sips; then she turned out the light.