The Valeditztorian (18 page)

“But we’re already out,” I say.

“Out
…by myself.”

With no further explanation
, Thomas stands up and saunters moodily out the door.

At that moment, another fam
iliar song—“Love Stinks,” by the J. Geils band—starts playing in my head, temporarily drowning out Luka. After putting up with Mr. Gloomy for the entire evening, I’m not even going to be compensated with sex. How disappointing. Perhaps I’ll have a date with my vibrator after the concert. The thought depresses me.

Though I’m now flying solo
, the music is so good that I stay until the end of the show. As the last, lovely notes hang in the air, the crowd breaks into applause, and I slip outside, into the night. Despite the late hour, the streets are filled with seemingly normal people enjoying the evening. Bustling activity, at almost any hour, is one of the things I love about New York. Walking toward the subway, I observe animated teenagers chatting too loudly on street corners, trying to impress one another, just like the kids in Brazil. Couples of all ages are strolling together along the sidewalks, smiling at one another. The walk is refreshing, reminding me that typical romantic relationships are usually emotionally reciprocal.

Before descending into the subway, I notice a flyer taped to a lamp post
.

“Learn to dance at New York
’s premier ballroom studio. Swing, cha-cha, waltz, foxtrot, and more. No partner needed. Call today!”

Hmm
. No partner? Sounds perfect. I rip off a tab with the phone number and shove it inside the pocket of my jeans.

When I arrive
in my apartment, suspicious moaning is emanating from behind Helen’s bedroom door. My goodness. Are Thomas and I the only two people in the city not having sex this evening? Then it occurs to me….Thomas could be messing around, right now, with some unknown person. If so, I hope he’s using condoms and not catching terrible diseases. Dejectedly, I reach into the corner of my underwear drawer, fish out my rabbit vibrator, and attend to my sexual needs. Then I cry myself to sleep.

Sometime in the wee hours I’m awakened by a loud banging noise
. Bleary-eyed, I throw on a nightgown and shuffle toward the front door. Peering through the peephole I see Thomas’s face, round and distorted. Though I should send him straight home, I completely cave. When I open up, he pulls me into his arms, where I catch the scent of hard liquor and stale cigarette smoke. Though Thomas doesn’t smoke, he sometimes hangs out with people who do.

“I’m sorry,” he says
, slurring his speech. “You deserve someone better than me.”  

That’s for sure.

After I lead him into my room, Thomas promptly passes out on top of my bed, obstructing access to my comforter. For a moment I study his face. When he’s asleep, the lines on his forehead relax, transforming his grown-up face into that of a little boy. Other than when we’re engaged in coital bliss, this is how I love Thomas the best—innocent, unconscious and utterly silent.

Chapter Eleven

Sushi and Sayonara

Later in the morning,
when the sun is high in the sky and I’m physically alone again, I receive an e-mail from Walter.

Subject: Your next project

Hi, Emma,

I hope you’re resting and enjoying your vacation. I just finished speaking with Connie Burgess, who could use some assistance with her pediatric TB project. Currently she’s on service, making hospital rounds in the afternoon. If you return to her lab, you’d probably have light hours. Let me know how that sounds.

Walter

Ear
ly dismissal sounds great. Boy, Walter must still be feeling guilty about my “traumatic” Brazilian experience. Now I’m particularly glad I didn’t tell him what actually happened.

Re: Your next project

Hi, Walter,

Working with Connie sounds perfect. I’ll be there Monday morning.

Emma

While envisioning a
shorter work day, it occurs to me that I might be able to get a second job—one that actually pays money, in contrast to the indentured servitude that currently claims my time. But what else could I do here in the big city? Waitressing is definitely out. With my hand-eye coordination, I’d be a hazard with hot coffee, burning people left and right. Imagining the carnage is enough to make me shudder. Babysitting is a possibility, but then again, tiny tots make me nervous. So what else? Scores is just a few blocks from my building. Thomas has suggested I’ve got the body for the job, and the money would probably be excellent. On the other hand…ha! When I pause to the think about it, the reasons for not working at Scores are numerous and compelling. For starters, I’d probably kill myself trying to walk in whichever pair of ridiculously high-heeled shoes they’d force me to wear. Moreover, I’m generally not in favor of parlaying my body for money. I’d never hold it against women who do, but for me, lap dancing is too much like prostitution. Nope, working at Scores isn’t gonna fly.

Grabbing the Yellow Pages, I flip to “tutoring
.” Having previously worked as a tutor in high school, this type of job would be right up my alley. Scanning down the pages, I’m surprised to find no less than eight separate listings for tutoring companies in the city, four of which are located on the Upper East Side. Starting in alphabetical order, I call “Advantage Testing.” One hour later, I’m sitting in their office for an interview.

Life sure moves quickly in Manhattan.

“So you’re a medical student?” says the efficient-looking young woman with perfectly straight brown hair who has just reviewed my resume.

I gaze at her head
in wonder. Not a single strand is out of place.

“That’s right,” I say
.

“I’m surprised you have time for a tutoring job
.”

When she
gives her head a little shake, every hair miraculously falls back into place.

“I’
m doing research now. In June, when fourth year starts, my time will get more limited.”

“Well, your curriculum vitae
is impressive. Top of your class, excellent SAT scores, several research publications…not to mention some tutoring experience. Did I miss anything?”

Yeah
—I’m a klutz, a sex addict, and I have a really big mouth.

“Not from a professional standpoint
.”

“Alright, then
. Given your credentials, you’d probably fit in well here, but the timing is a problematic. Since we’re nearing the end of the school year, we won’t be getting many new students until the fall.”

“No
problem,” I say. “A slow start is fine.”

“Have you ever done SAT tutoring?”
she asks.

“No
. In high school, I usually helped kids who were struggling with their math and science classes.”

“A significant part of our business is preparing students for standardized t
ests. If you stay with us long term, we’ll need to train you.”

Wow
. I’ve been here all of 10 minutes, and already she’s talking ‘long term.’ If only men were this eager to commit.

“That sounds fine
.”

“Now then, since you
already have some experience helping students with their schoolwork, I do have one young lady who could use your assistance, starting immediately.”

“How old is she?”
I ask.

“Nine.”

Oh, good. Nine is definitely too big to drop.

“Tell me more.”

“She’s a fourth grader who’s having difficulty staying on track with her classroom assignments. A previous tutor wasn’t able to make much progress. Are you interested in working with her?”

“Sure…b
ut I should probably ask how much the job pays.”

“Your salary is based upon the length of time you stay with us
. New tutors start at one hundred fifty dollars per hour, but Advantage keeps fifty percent.”

Oh, my god
! Seventy-five dollars per hour, to start! Though I’m trying to look unimpressed, the truth is that I’m completely floored.

“Umm, just out of curiosity, can I ask what the business owners make?”

“Sure. Sahill currently bills at four hundred dollars per hour, but that may go up soon. His services are in high demand, and his schedule is always booked.”

Holy shit
. I try not to fall out of my seat. Four hundred dollars…per hour! Whether I’ll ever make this much money as a practicing physician is questionable. Maybe I should forget about medical school and pursue a career in professional tutoring instead.

“
The starting salary sounds fine,” I say. “How do I get started?”

“After I
give you the client’s phone number, you call the family to set up an appointment. When you speak to the parents, just tell them you’re from Advantage. Okay?”

“Okay
.”

When
I stand to offer her my hand, Little Miss Perfect clears her throat and shoots me with a serious stare.

“Emma,” she says warningly, “at Advantage, we have extremely high standards
. If you don’t live up to them, you won’t last long here.”

I
nod, dropping my arm. For the money they’re charging these poor parents (or should I say rich parents?), they’d better have high standards.

In light of my improving financial situation, I swing by Shabu-Shabu on the way home and charg
e a luscious assortment of takeout sushi to my trusty credit card, a companion who has lasted longer than any boyfriend. Then I head back to the apartment, knowing Helen is enjoying the light hours of a dermatology rotation and will probably be home. Sure enough, I find her standing in the kitchen, contemplating a box of Ronzoni.

“Want to forget the pasta and share some sushi?” I ask
.

Helen furrows her eyebrows suspiciously
.

“Where’d you buy it…
from that horrible place on the corner?”

“Nope
. Not the deli. I stopped by Shabu-Shabu.”

If the look on her face is any indication, Helen is probably feeling conflicted
. On the one hand, I’m sure she’s still mad at me. On the other hand, she’s a sushi addict, particularly when it comes to the high-quality fare served at fine establishments like Shabu-Shabu.

“Okay
,” she says, crossing her arms and glaring at me, “I’m agreeing to share, but you’re still not forgiven.”

Luckily her to
ne seems to be thawing. We’ve moved from Arctic frigid to bone-chilling cold. Progress…it’s a good thing. Unpacking the aluminum cartons filled with neat little rows of tuna, salmon and yellow tail, I glance up at Helen and take a deep breath.

“
I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble, but I thought Grace should know that BJ was cheating. Wouldn’t you want to know if your ‘monogamous’ boyfriend was fooling around? What if he wasn’t using condoms?”

Helen dunks a thick piece of tuna into soy sauce and shoves it whole into her mouth
.

“We alwayths used condoms,” she mumbles while chewing.

I sigh.

“That’s not the point
. Grace trusted him, and he lied to her.”

Before answering, Helen ferociously bites a piece of yellow tail
. I’m relieved she’s got something inanimate to chew on.

“Emma, this
was none of your business,” she snaps between swallows. “You’re way too self-righteous. You think you can jump into a crappy situation and save everyone, but you can’t. Whenever you get involved in other people’s private lives, you screw things up even more.”  

The truth hurts
.

“Helen, I…
.”

“Spare me,” she says, holding up her hand
. “I know you’re sorry. I am too, especially because the little shit lied to me as well.”

That’s news
. I raise my eyebrows.

“Yeah, I knew BJ
was steady with Grace, and I refused to sleep with him under those conditions. When he told me they’d broken up, I was stupid enough to believe him—which is unfortunate, since I actually liked him.”

“Why
? Was he good in bed?”

Helen gives me a wry look
.

“We’re talking about my screwed up life here, not yours, Emma
.”

Then she smiles
.

“To tell you the truth
, he was pretty awful in bed. For a future surgeon, he had a hell of a time locating certain critical body parts.”

The two of us start laughing
, which is an absolute relief.

“So how are things going with the big ‘T’?” asks Helen.

“I’ve been trying to break up with him since I got home from Brazil.”

Helen dramatically rolls her big, dark eyes
.

“Emma, you’ve spent every other night in his apartment, or vice versa, since you got home
. Break up? It’s more like you’re moving in together.”

“Speaking of which, he asked me to move to Michigan with him.”

Helen slams her hand against the kitchen table.

“Ow
…Emma,” she says, sucking on her pinky. “You’re not seriously thinking of following him into some happily never after?”

“Of
course not. I’d never do that….At least, I don’t think I’d do that.”

“That’s the pr
oblem with you, Emma. You’re too wishy-washy. You should’ve left him months ago.”

“I was planning
to leave him, especially after everything that happened in Brazil.”

My voice involuntarily lowers to a whisper
.

“But the second I saw him, I fell apart.”

“Wait a minute,” says Helen. “What happened in Brazil?”

“It’s a long story
.”

Helen sighs
.

“You did buy a lot of sushi,” she says.

As we stuff our faces for the next hour, I recount the stories of Grace, Alvin, Luciano and Paula, knowing Helen won’t have contact with anyone in Salvador. When I’m finished, I feel surprisingly lighter.

“That’s quite a tale, Emma.”

“I know.”

“And it’s totally ironic,” says Helen.

“What is?” I ask.

B
efore she answers the question, my heart starts to sink. I can almost sense what she’s going to say.

“That you travel halfway across the world and run straight into another guy who’s just like Thomas.”

“But that’s a totally different sit.…”

“
Oh, no it’s not,” she interrupts. “Luciano and Thomas have plenty in common. From what you just told me, Luciano is yet another male commitment-phobe.”

“Well, that’s true, but….”

“And clearly, he put his own, adolescent needs ahead of Paula’s, resulting in emotionally cold, immature behavior.”

“I know, except….”

“The same way that Thomas mistreats you all the time. What doesn’t make sense to me is why a smart woman like yourself is bothered by this inequity in someone else’s relationship, when you allow yourself to be similarly mistreated by Thomas, day after day.”

Helen crosses her arms triumphantly.

Sheesh. She’s completely right. Helen would make a great psychiatrist.

Following her
dead-on assessment, my brain is suddenly electrified with a critical piece of knowledge that has been teetering on the edge of my consciousness for some time now, probably since the night that Grace and I cared for Paula. Not only do I need to leave Thomas, but I’m finally strong enough to do it.