The Gilder (12 page)

Following the weekend in the country, Marina had enjoyed a number of dinner dates with Amir, as well as an occasional night at his apartment, but since Sarah’s return, she hadn’t paid him much attention, declining his invitations with one excuse or another. But she didn’t want to have dinner with Sarah and Thomas on her own, to be the third wheel again, so she screwed up her courage to call Amir and was pleased when he agreed to come along.

It was just as Sarah had predicted—everything appeared to have returned to normal between Thomas and her. Thomas seemed especially pleased to see Marina and spent most of the evening talking to her about his work, trying to persuade her to come help him in his studio once her stint at the leather stall was up. Marina had been anxious about seeing Sarah after the silence of the past week, afraid she might be upset about her criticism of their marriage. But Sarah seemed relaxed and included Marina easily in her conversation about Iran with Amir. While Marina was flattered by Thomas’s attention and relieved that Sarah showed no signs of being upset with her, she understood that a shift had taken place. She was once again the odd man out. That night she went home with Amir, but his tender ministrations were not enough to fill the place vacated by Sarah’s undivided attention.

With the summer now behind them, the crowds thinned, and Marina’s time at the leather stall came to an end. When Thomas heard that she was available again, he asked her to make good on her promise to help him with his work, and Marina saw no reason to refuse. She’d get a little extra income, which would come in handy with Christmas approaching, plus she’d be learning more about photography.

For the first two weeks, while Thomas scouted for stonework and statuary he might want to shoot, Marina followed him around town. In addition to carrying his extra camera bag, he had her mark the locations he liked on a map and make corresponding notes in a small notebook. At any given site, he might take ten to twenty quick shots using his 35mm Leica. He said there was plenty of time for more exacting shots once he knew what he wanted. The most crucial piece of information he had her record was the time of day. That way, he explained, he’d be able to return to the site at the same hour if he liked what he saw in the proofs, or try another time of day for a different effect. She knew that he was working toward a new show, but whenever she asked him what exactly he was looking for, he put his finger to his lips and said, “Watch and learn.” His response irritated her, reminding her of her parents, who’d so often left her questions unanswered, but she let it go and dutifully followed his directions.

They worked from the early morning, a few times starting at dawn, until midday, when they’d find their way to Anita’s and join Sarah for lunch. Following the meal, Thomas disappeared to his studio to look at the morning’s work, while Marina either returned home if she was working on something, or followed Sarah back to her apartment and collapsed on the couch.

“Thomas says you’ve been a big help.” Sarah was ironing shirts while Marina lay on the couch flipping through a magazine.

“What he has me doing isn’t exactly brain surgery.” Marina had come to the conclusion that Thomas didn’t really need her help at all. He could easily have done the things he had her doing, but for some reason he wanted her around, and she was flattered.

“Maybe not, but he says it’s helping him. Anyway, it’s good for him to have the company. I worry that he spends too much time alone.”

“Honestly, you shouldn’t worry about him. We can’t go two blocks without someone stopping him for a chat.” Marina watched Sarah pick up another shirt from the basket and wondered why Thomas always looked so crumpled.

“I know,” Sarah replied. “He’s got that street life, but ...”

“He’s an artist. They’re all loners. You know that.”

“I suppose so. Are you having any fun or is it just tedious?”

Marina put the magazine down and sat up. “So far, it isn’t very exciting, but I’m enjoying it. Thomas said I can help him in the darkroom next, and it’ll be interesting to see the finished product. But it’s been fun being out in the streets with someone who knows so much about the city. He seems to have stories about every place we go and almost everyone we run into.”

Sarah smiled. “Yes, he’s quite the storyteller. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I know Thomas is, too.”

It seemed important to Sarah that her friend was happy working with Thomas, and it suddenly occurred to Marina that perhaps Sarah wanted her to keep an eye on Thomas. Maybe Sarah thought that if she worked with Thomas every day, he’d be less likely to spend time with the contessa. It seemed a bit extreme, but at the same time, it made sense. She lay back on the couch and closed her eyes. She’d have to be careful not to get sucked into Thomas and Sarah’s drama. She wasn’t the damn babysitter.

When Thomas was ready for her to work in the darkroom with him, she had to rearrange her schedule to work on her own projects in the mornings instead of the afternoons, which was when Thomas did his darkroom work. Marina had assumed that Thomas took a siesta after lunch, perhaps on the velvet daybed in the corner of his studio, but that wasn’t the case at all. He went right back to work, and expected her to do the same. Now she followed him up the stairs, eager to see what the darkroom had in store for her. Darkroom work intrigued her more than any other aspect of photography. She loved the way an image slowly came to life, seemingly out of nowhere, spreading itself into sharper and sharper focus across a blank sheet of paper. It was nothing short of magic.

As near as she could tell, the studio hadn’t changed. It was still bright and empty.

Thomas pointed to the back corner. “Put your stuff on the daybed and I’ll give you a tour of the darkroom.”

Marina put her coat and bag on the bed and followed Thomas into the darkroom. The dim light and sulfurous smell transported her instantly back to her high school darkroom and her first kiss. She’d always maintained that that first kiss from her lab partner, a boy named Dan Star, might have led to more had their teacher not become wise to the budding romance and split them up.

Thomas indicated a shelf over the deep sink. “I’m not sure how much you know, but this is pretty much your typical darkroom. I keep the chemicals there.” He pointed with his first two fingers as if he were shooting the items off the shelf. “Developer, stop bath, fixer.”

Marina nodded. “I remember the basics.”

“Good. Then you remember to keep the basins separate. They’re under the counter there, one for each chemical. Tongs are with the basins. I keep the paper in the studio.”

The darkroom was smaller than Marina had imagined, but once they started working, she adapted easily to Thomas’s rhythm and economy of movement. Over the next week, they worked side by side on prints that were overdue for delivery to a gallery in Rome. Thomas was anxious to get them out of the way so he could focus on the work for his show.

Marina lifted the contact sheet out of the pan, letting it drip for a minute before she pegged it to the line. Thomas reached over her shoulder and adjusted the clip. “Like that. So it doesn’t leave a smudge.”

Working in the confined space, Marina had grown accustomed to his body touching hers, lingering at times, fleeting at others. None of it seemed intentional. In fact, he seemed oblivious to the contact, so she decided not to read anything into it. As the days went by, his scent—a blend of coffee, tobacco, and sweat—became as much a part of her landscape as the vast, light-filled studio and the insular darkroom.

In contrast to the time they’d spent out in the streets, Thomas was talkative and more than willing to have a conversation. In response to her questions, he told her about meeting Sarah, how interested she’d been in his work, and how she had offered to model for him. He laughed. “I didn’t even have to ask her to take off her clothes, she just put herself there in front of me.”

Marina wondered where the truth lay. According to Sarah, she had resisted his pursuit.

One afternoon, as he slipped a contact sheet into the basin in front of Marina, he said, “I suppose Sarah’s told you about her first marriage?”

Marina shook her head.
First marriage?
They’d been close friends for the better part of a year. Why hadn’t she told her?

Thomas continued, “It’s not a secret or anything. She just doesn’t like to talk about it. I think it embarrasses her. She was married off at seventeen to some old geezer from her parents’ church group. Brainwashed, if you ask me. They were real holy rollers—tent meetings, speaking in tongues, the whole nine yards.”

Marina put down the tongs and stared at Thomas.
Brainwashing, speaking in tongues!
What was he talking about?

“Evidently, the guy turned out to be a real control freak, wouldn’t let her have a job or go to college. So she spent all her time in the library reading about art. And she drew a lot, pretty much in secret. Evidently, he thought art was the devil’s work or something. So one day the husband gets run over by a truck, and before her parents can say, ‘Lord have mercy,’ she takes the life insurance money and runs. Just disappears. She ended up here and hasn’t seen her parents since.”

Why had Sarah said that her parents were killed in a car accident? She didn’t know if she was angrier with Sarah for not telling her the whole story, or with Thomas for knowing something about Sarah that she didn’t. Either way, she felt like a fool.

The following weekend, Sarah suggested one last picnic before the season turned definitively toward winter, and while Marina still felt slighted by Sarah’s deception, she missed her terribly, and the prospect of some time together won out over her anger. Perhaps Sarah had a good reason for lying to her.

However, when Marina saw Sarah at the bus stop, she felt her anger anew, and in spite of Sarah’s warm greeting, she rode the bus in sulky silence, clutching the remnants of her pique. The fall air was cool, but the sun burned hot in a cloudless sky as Marina followed Sarah to their favorite olive tree. Sarah spread her quilt in the dappled shade, then without a word, Marina flopped down on her back and covered her eyes with one arm while Sarah opened a bottle of wine and lifted her face to the sun, seemingly oblivious to her friend’s mood.

“We better enjoy this weather. Pretty soon it’ll be raining every other day, then it’ll be Christmas.”

“What about snow?” asked Marina in a flat tone from beneath her arm.

Sarah plucked a stray leaf from Marina’s shoulder. “It snows some in the hills, but I’ve only seen snow in the city once. It was the funniest thing. Everyone walked around with umbrellas as if it was raining.”

“So it’s just cold and rainy, and foul all winter. That’s what I have to look forward to?” Marina removed her arm and stared up at the branches. She knew she was being a brat, but she couldn’t help it.

Sarah chuckled. “It’s not
that
bad. I didn’t say ‘foul.’ Anyway, you have Amir to keep you warm.”

Marina shrugged and replied without emotion. “He’ll be gone by Christmas. His semester’s over in two weeks and he’s going home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Marina shrugged again. “It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”

“Well then”—Sarah poked Marina’s arm—“I guess there’s always spending time with me.”

Marina turned her head and looked up at Sarah, who smiled down at her with a goofy, just-little-old-me smile on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were married before?” There was no mistaking the accusation in her tone.

Sarah’s smile vanished and she turned her face away. When she spoke, it was as if to the orchard. “Because I try to forget it ever happened. Because I’m ashamed to admit that I was once that passive, that I allowed myself to be bullied into a marriage arranged by my parents to a man I didn’t love.” She paused for a moment. “I suppose Thomas told you that my parents are still alive.” She didn’t look at Marina for confirmation. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re as dead as that bastard.”

The anguish in Sarah’s voice made Marina’s anger seem small and petty. She sat up and touched Sarah gently on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Sarah shook her head as if to say, “You couldn’t have known,” or “You wouldn’t understand,” or perhaps she meant, “Leave me alone.” Marina wasn’t sure, and a thread of panic squeezed in her chest. Sarah bent her head, letting a curtain of red curls fall between them. In her lap, her fingers were busy snapping a twig into tiny pieces. Then, in almost a whisper, she said, “If it hadn’t been for that truck, I’d probably be dead by now.”

Marina didn’t know if she meant figuratively or literally, and remained silent. When she heard Sarah sniff, she reached out and lifted her hair, settling it behind her shoulder, smoothing it across her back. The harder Sarah cried, the more confident Marina became, and after a moment, she took Sarah into her arms and rocked her until her sobs subsided.

A while later, Marina lay on her side watching Sarah sleep. She had dozed a little herself, but the combination of wine and emotion seemed to have knocked Sarah right out. Marina traced Sarah’s profile with her eyes: the high brow, sculpted cheekbones, narrow patrician nose, and the delicate chin separated by full lips. Lips she had never really noticed before, not like this. She had the urge to reach out and touch them lightly with her finger ... with her lips. Marina held her breath. Her heart knocked. She looked at the lips again. Yes, they definitely looked kissable. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes.
Where had that come from?
She’d never had a thought like that before, not about any woman, ever. She lay motionless, afraid of what might happen next. What did this mean? Was she mistaken about Sarah’s intentions? Did Sarah feel this way, too?

“You know what we’ll do?”

Sarah’s voice startled her. Marina turned and looked at her friend, who still had her eyes closed.

Sarah continued, “When the weather gets too cold to picnic, we’ll still come up here, but we’ll go to that little pizzeria in the square. You know, the one that’s like a cave, with the long tables.”