Truths of the Heart (34 page)

She said, “I can't believe we've walked this far. Maybe we should be getting
back.”

“I'm in no hurry.”

“Yes.” She turned him around and they began the return.

She said, “So Seth, did you have any further thought on how you want to
submit?”

I'm yours.
“Submit?”

“Ben's Story.”

“Actually I haven't. I've been busy, have to make up a math class to graduate,
I hate math.”

“Then what?”

“Then what, what?”

“After you master math, graduate, then what?”

“I've been accepted at the Art Institute, Chicago, starts in September
… but….”

“But?”

“Funds are running low, I could get a job, da Vinci's is opening a
Chicago branch … you teaching this summer?”

“Possibly one class, I need to take some time off, maybe do some research.”

“Going to offer Com. 501 next year?”

“I think so.”

“Maybe I'll stay, repeat your class.”

She heard but didn't want to think about the underlying meaning: “I
think you should do a one page synopsis for
Ben's Story
. We'll have to
get, or you will have to retype a few things, I've edited some minor revisions,
shouldn't take long.”

“You think this is going to work, don't you?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Okay with me. Say....” He hesitated.

“What?”

“I have a request.”

“What?”

“You turned me down once.”

She thought a moment, “I think I know what it is.”

“I have to do a study for anatomy class….”

She tipped her head, paused, thought, smiled, “I'm flattered. But, like
I said before, I don't think so.”

“Why?”

“Think about it.”

“I have.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A blue nude.”

She stopped walking and, a step ahead, turned back to him and stared.

He said, “No, no, just kidding, we could do a head and shoulder
portrait.”

“That would be nice.”

They continued to walk.

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Why?”

“Let me think about it.”

“What's to think?”

“And the Walrus said....”

“Yes.”

“Seth, no.”

“There is a yes in your mien.”

“Where would you do it?”

“My studio, my apartment, you know, above....”

“Tony's Deli where I may buy some olives.”

“You remember.”

She chuckled and retreated, “Seth, you know the drill, I'm the
professor … how would this look?”

“Like what it is.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You're the professor, you tell me.”

“When would you do this?”

“How about tonight.”

She gave him a hooded glance.

“No, tomorrow afternoon, we could start, say, nineish.”

“Seth, I don't think this is such a good idea”

“I won't compromise any student professor relationship, promise.”

She laughed. “There are a million other subjects on this campus, why don't
you get one of your fellow students?”

“You said that before.”

“But there are and besides, I don't think I would have time.”

“Listen to the professor equivocate.”

“Okay then, no.”

“Okay.”

“What would I wear?”

“Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That outfit you had on Saturday night, at the Simone thing, the loose fitting
white satiny slacks, matching blouse, honey hair falling around your shoulders,
lips bare, beyond that, is up to you.”

She looked at him. He remembered every detail.
Why are you
surprised?

She then recalled what Carl had said at the party about Seth, drinking
ginger ale, Shirley Temples, but it was none of her business. But then, if he
was … she had to know. No.

He said, “I'll meet you at the Capital Coffee Shop, on Michigan Avenue,
you know where that is?”

“Yes.”

“Say 9:00 A.M., tomorrow for coffee, my place is only a block away.”

“I can't possibly do it tomorrow.”

“When?”

She thought about it, mulled, then: “How about Thursday? I'll have some
time then.”

“Carl out of town?”

Paused: “That is not appropriate and perhaps we should cancel before we
start.”

“I'm sorry.”

After a moment, “I think it would be better if we skipped coffee, I'll
just come straight to your studio.”

“Fine with me, you know the way, corner of E. Michigan Avenue, Allen
Street.”

“I remember.”

“You go east on Michigan Avenue, to Allen Street, on the left....”

“I said I remember?”

“...park on the Allen Street, Tony's deli is on the first floor,
gourmet foods, side entrance, up one flight of stairs, end of hall.”

“Smarty.”

“Anybody asks, you're shopping for olives.”

“You're bad.”

****

Returning to her office, her phone ringing, they entered and she picked
up. Seth watched her face change to paste.

She said into the phone, “Just a minute.” She covered the mouth piece
and whispered to Seth, “This is going to take a minute.”

He whispered back, “See you Thursday, 9:00 A.M. my place.”

She shook her head and mouthed, “Make it eleven.”

He nodded and left.

She said into the phone, “I don't think I want to talk to you.”

She listened as Carl apologized for the bloody nose, was sorry, didn't mean
it, everything was piling up, if she would move to Detroit none of this would
be happening.

Listening, she stared at the doorway through which Seth had just gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

That night, home, Rachelle in a quandary, thinking,
quandary
dawndary, I can't handle this mode. Mode! What is this, ice cream?
T.S.
snuggled up by her side, she took up her journal and wrote:

This is so stupid, I don't have time for this. I have work to do,
things to research, articles to write, a life to get on with … without Carl
that's for sure … that will be dealt with soon, but this jumping out of the pot
into the fire … this is insane … who are you kidding? It is there—a caring I
have never known for another male except … say it, yes, your father. Maybe
that's it, Herr Freud.

She blushed then continued to write:

You blush, wow! I can't stand it, I have never had less control of my
thinking. I can't concentrate. I eat and Seth is there. I read and he is there.
I drive … insane insane insane! I feel like a pot of water coming to a boil.
When you are sixty, he will be in his prime … his prime, interesting choice of
word. How 'bout, when you are dry as wheat germ … with him I would never be dry
… STOP THAT!

She put her journal down and said to T.S., “We don't need this alphabet
soup, do we? How did this happen? And what do I care if someone drinks ginger
ale!”

T.S. yawned widely, closed his eyes.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thursday morning arrived and, determined to put a stop to this
nonsense, wearing Levis, her white Adidas running shoes, green M.S.U. baseball
hat with pony tail pulled through the hole in the back, large Bimini sun
glasses, Rachelle parked a block away and walked to the side entrance to Seth's
apartment. Cell phone turned off, she made her way up the staircase. At the
top, noting the time, 11:10 A.M., she saw, down a short hallway, a tall redhead
woman coming from the only door at the end of the hall. She thought she
recognized the person. Yes, at Sparrow Hospital. The F-word lady. Passing her,
the woman gazed beyond

Rachelle like neither person existed.

Rachelle reached the apartment door, paused, then tapped. The door opened,
Seth smiled. He wore Levis, a white T-shirt, and was bare foot. He looked at
her disguise, then said, “I'm sorry you must have the wrong address.”

“You....” She pushed him aside and entered quickly.

“Dr. Zannes! You look….”

”Can it. Please close the door.”

He did.

She looked at him wryly, “Should I have taken a number?”

He detected a hint of jealousy, “What?”

“Who was that I passed in the hall?”

“Art student, having problem with a class.”

Biting wryly, “What is she majoring in, ancient art history?”

“Rachelle, this is not like you.”

“None of this is like me.”

“Oh.”

“Didn't I see her at your hospital bedside, the one who threw the F
word my way?”

“I was so out of it. I don't remember much of that whole episode.”

Taking her sun glasses off, “Do you remember anything of the hospital experience?”

“You came.”

“So I did and I can't believe I'm here.”

“If you want to know, she is a photographer, sculptor on the side, somehow
she has grown attached but I have no interest there, have told her so.”

“Past, present, future, it's none of my concern, now is it.”

He smiled “You look like a countess in disguise.”

She looked at his cut off Levis, his bare feet. “And who are you, Picasso?”
She smiled, “How did you get me to do this?”

“All my wealth.”

She removed her baseball hat and surveyed the apartment.

Surprised to see the many sketches of herself pinned to the wall, everywhere,
she looked at him.

He shrugged and said, “Would you like something to drink, coffee, tea, milk,
I have some wine … ginger ale?”

“Coffee.” She had to know, had to ask, “You drink a lot of ginger ale?”

Paused, he said, “Why do you ask?”

“I noticed at the Simone Simone party....”

“Carl.”

“No, I just....”

“My sister, Natalie … I haven't touched a drop since.”

She felt small, “I....”

Pointing to a mug of coffee, “Black?”

Disarmed, angry at herself, “Little milk.” Sitting at his desk, “By the
way, I talked to Simone, the letter is on the way.”

“You said … won't that be something?”

“This is all something.”

Handing her the mug of coffee, Seth said, “Shall we get to work.”

She said, “How are we going to do this?”

“How 'bout my bed, you could....”

“Goodbye,” she started to stand.

“Just kidding. I've been thinking about it, a peasant woman, babushka,
I bought one.”

“You're kidding.”

“No.”

“Is that what I bring to mind?”

“Servant qualities do come through. Also nobility, charity, giving,
honor, touch of pity, compassion, sacrifice.”

She yawned.

“Proud, touch of the rebel....”

“Okay, okay. Where is the babushka?”

He produced a maroon and gold babushka. She took it and draped it casually
over her head and shoulder. “How's that?”

“The ponytail has to go.”

“How?”

“Like Saturday night, let your hair fall around your face to your shoulders.”

She threw him a glance both menacing and adoring.

He said, “I remember everything.”

“I noticed.” She removed the babushka and lets her hair fall loose.

He said, “May I?”

“What?”

“The babushka.”

“Might as well.”

He adjusted her hair so it fell casually around her face then adjusted
the babushka and tied it loosely under her chin. Her breath's sweetness mixed
up with freshness from her hair and that exotic roses-in-the-rain perfume, made
him swoon. He touched her hair again. She said, “You've done this before?”

“Zillions … there, perfect.” He moved to his easel where an 18x24inch white
canvas was sized and secured. He stood studying her for several minutes then,
with a stick of blue pastel, began to sketch an outline of her head, neck, and
shoulders.

She said, “How long do you think this will require?”