When It's Love (7 page)

I bite my cheeks to suppress a smile over Henry’s thoughtfulness. “I’m sorry …” I say. “I thought Marina was one of your, you know, babes.”

“And if she was?” Henry says raising one eyebrow. “Would that bother you?”

“Of course not,” I say, but I’m pretty sure I’m lying and I don’t understand why I feel this way. Henry and I have been friends for years. I’ve never been jealous of his sexual escapades.

Henry comes close to me and whispers in my ear. “Marina would never go for me, but she might go for you,” he says. “In fact, I know you’re her type. She loves blondes.”

I feel my cheeks turning red. “Oh!” I don’t know what else to say.

Just then Marina appears. She points at a black leather chair next to the three-sided mirror. “Sit over there, Henry,” she says. She gestures for me to enter the fitting room with a long mirror. “I’ll bring things to you one by one. Tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” I say.

“You should take off those sweats first,” she grins and steps out of the room.

“Um, OK,” I say feeling awkward and shy. I pull off my depressing clothes until I’m standing in nothing but my white cotton panties and my hideous bra. Marina is going to nickname me
grannyboobs
when she sees it. “I’m ready,” I say again.

Marina steps in holding a fitted little black dress with sheer chiffon shoulders and sleeves. It’s cinched at the waist and looks like it will hit about mid-thigh. She’s smirking at me and I feel the need to cover myself so I cross my arms over my chest. “We need to get you into a different bra,” she says. “We’ve got a whole bunch on sale now. Let me grab one for you. See stares at my breasts. “34C?” she asks.

“I think so,” I say.

Marina comes back into the dressing room with several black bras. She lifts a strapless one up first. “Let’s try this,” she says. I reach behind my back to unhook my bra, but Mariana’s fingers are already there. She’s a good few inches taller than me and easily puts her hands on my shoulders and slips the bra straps down my arms. I keep my hands at my sides as the bra falls to the floor. Marina startles me when she sucks in her breath and stares at me in the mirror, naked except for a thin pair of panties. “You’re stunning,” she says.

“Uh, thanks,” I mumble, not sure how to respond. Exposure is turning my nipples hard and I move to cover them with my hands. Marina gives me a strapless bra and as I push it into its place she grabs the tabs and hooks it for me. Then she hands me the dress and waits until I’m ready to be zipped up. She places her hands delicately on my waist before she slowly pulls up the zipper. Our eyes meet in the mirror and I feel something flicker in me, a startling sensation of arousal.

“You look really good,” Marina says, “but the dress isn’t hot enough for you. Want to show Henry?”

I step out of the room to find Henry grinning mischievously. Is he getting off on the thought of Marina in the dressing room with me? I know how guys are about watching women touch and kiss each other. I check myself out in the three-sided mirror. I guess I look OK, but the dress is pretty blah. Henry seems to read my mind. “Nice,” he says. “But we can do better.”

Marina helps me in and out of a few different dresses. Each time she zips me slowly and carefully, running her hands up my back as she does. I try to focus on Professor Sparling, on how he’d respond to seeing me in a little black dress – and seeing me out of it. It’s hard to ignore Mariana’s touch, though, and I kind of feel like smacking Henry. I’m sure he’s getting a kick out of this. I tell myself that my reaction to her has only to do with being so charged by Professor Sparling. I’ve got sex on the brain. That doesn’t mean I’m attracted to a woman.

When I try on a stretch V-neck velvet dress with three-quarter sleeves, I feel good. The dress is tight, and the back is open. It’s sexy without being slutty. Marina gives me a smile of approval, and I think she realizes that I’m not batting for her team. When I step out of the dressing room, Henry gives me a standing ovation. The twinkle in his eyes makes know this dress is right.

I spend the next half hour trying on skirts, jeans, sweaters, and shirts that call attention to my chest and waist. It’s an exhausting process and the fitting room starts to feel extraordinarily claustrophobic. Henry and Marina, my delightful fashion coordinators, seem to realize they’re losing my cooperation. They discuss the clothes that are piled before us and decide on the velvet dress, a tight red scoop-neck cashmere sweater (perfect for Christmas!), skinny jeans in vintage blue, black leggings, a short A-line black skirt, a white silk button-down blouse, and a pile of fitted t-shirts in girly colors that will either flatter me or make me look like an Easter egg.

When I’m back in my old clothes I head out to the cash register. Henry is already paying and I grin when I notice he’s added a heap of daring undergarments and stockings to my new wardrobe. “Are you sure you want to pay for all of this?” I ask. “I can chip in, you know.”

“It’s my pleasure to pay. And I want you to wear the red sweater and black skirt when you come to Ottawa Estate for Christmas dinner,” Henry says. “You can decide what you’re wearing underneath them,” he says, smirking wickedly.

“What?” I say.

I’m taken aback by Henry’s invitation. Since it’s only two days before Christmas Eve and he hadn’t mentioned an invitation to dinner before, I assumed I wasn’t invited this year. I’d been thinking about driving back to Clarksville for Christmas, but I know I won’t be happy there, so what’s the point? Being with family on the holiday is only a good thing if your family cares that you’re there. My plan was just to hang out with Tiny and Little and pretend it was a regular day.

Christmases were some of the loneliest times of my childhood. My grandparents had a handyman who decorated the house in lights and brought in a tree. My elegant grandmother had a box of ornaments and every year she would take it out and give it to me. Together we’d dust the ornaments, all of which were imprinted with Nativity images. My grandmother never stayed with me while I hung them on the tree. She would have one excuse or another – she needed to step out to the store, there were dishes in the sink, or her knee hurt. I would climb up the stepladder and work on making the tree beautiful. But as I looked at the images of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus – the family – I felt even more alone than usual.

The summer after I graduated high school Jake and I drove out to swim in Lake Pleasant time and again. There was a deserted area we went to for privacy. Nothing was out there but the old trailer where I found Tiny and Little. To get into the water we had to push through tall thick reeds. We had a small tent that we pitched and soft blankets we threw inside to make it comfortable. We built a fire pit where we could roast marshmallows. And since no one was around we often swam naked. After a cool dip in the lake we’d cuddle in the tent. Sometimes we had sex and sometimes brown-haired Jake just held me close, his muscular arms wrapped tightly around me as if he were protecting me from a wild beast tearing out of the woods and approaching our tent.

Jake and I always talked about the future – graduation and college. Jake was planning to go to Michigan State. He didn’t have the grades to get into Addison, and although I knew he loved me, I also knew that it would be better if we didn’t try to stay together during college. “If it’s meant to be,” I’d say to him, “it will happen.” Saying that always made me sad, and if a tear dripped down my cheek, Jake would wipe it away with his thumb. “It will be because I love you,” he’d murmur with his face in my hair. He was the first and only person to ever say, “I love you” to me. And had I not experienced Jake’s love, I don’t know how I would have held up when my life unraveled. It all started with the blue sedan that started following me.

The first time Jake mentioned the car it was parked under a street lamp across the street from my grandparents’ house. Until that point, I thought I’d been imagining the feeling of being followed. It was just after dusk when Jake mentioned the car. He was dropping me off at my grandparents after we’d had dinner at our favorite Clarksville hangout, Van Diner. “Grandma Rose and Grandpa Ben got company?” he asked.

“They didn’t mention company to me.”

“I’ve seen that car here before,” Jake said, his brown eyes clouded with concern.

“I recognize it because it’s got a dent on the driver’s door. You see that?”

“I’ve seen it here, too,” I said nervously. I’d also seen it outside of my school a couple of times.

Jake and I were both staring at the car when its driver turned on the engine and headlights. We squinted into the light trying to see in, but we couldn’t. The car took off into the night, too quickly for us to make out the license plate.

“Should I call the police?” I asked Jake.

“You don’t have anything to tell them,” he said. “They won’t take you seriously.”

He was right. When I did go to the police a few weeks later to report a blue car following me, they told me there was nothing they could do unless I was being threatened. Jake told me not to worry. “Whatever is going on, baby,” he said, “I’ll protect you.”

Jake did try to protect me, but when the truth came out there was nothing anyone could do for me. I had to come to terms with what I learned about my true identity, and while I tried to do that, I pushed Jake away. It wasn’t a lack of love that made me do it. I was scared, confused, and most of all, ashamed. I felt like I’d fallen down a deep, dark pit, but I wasn’t crying for someone to help me out. I wanted to stay down there in the pitch black with nothing but mud and earthworms. I wept in Jake’s arms when I told him I was breaking things off. “You have to go to Michigan State soon,” I said. “And I need time alone. I can’t give you anything right now.”

“I don’t need anything, Sydney,” Jake said. His face was pale and his hands were clenching my shoulders. “Don’t do this to us, baby.”

“We were going to break up for college anyway,” I said. “It’s just happening a little earlier than planned. And if it’s meant to be …” I started to say, but Jake had already let go of me. I was really, truly alone.

I’m not good for conversation on the drive back from Cherrywood Mall. I’m completely exhausted and Henry is poking fun at me, trying to get me to react to his teasing. “So what went on in that dressing room with Marina?” he says. He’s almost laughing.

“Nothing,” I say. I lean my head against the window and let out a sigh. For some reason, my thoughts are stuck in the past.

“If I know Marina, she had her hands all over you. Fess up, Syd,” Henry says. I think he can see I’m feeling down and he’s trying to tease me out of it.

“I suppose she did.” I do my best to play along.

“Come on, Sydney Morrison, give me the dirt,” Henry demands. “Did you like it?”

“I like Professor Sparling,” I say. “And I need to get home and write to him.” That is probably the only thing that will push away the memories that are assaulting me.

“You got a plan?” Henry asks. “Do you know what you’re going to say?” The excitement in Henry’s voice is contagious and I start to perk up.

“I definitely do not,” I say. “Any advice?” The more we talk about Professor Sparling, the more my mood lifts.

“Don’t be shy,” Henry says as he chuckles and brushes his hair off his forehead.

“Fuck off,” I say with a giggle. “Tell me something useful. Give me good advice.”

“My advice is to let go and give Sparling everything you’ve got.”

I smile at Henry. “Thanks,” I say. “You’re the best.”

We pull up in front of my building and Henry pops the trunk so I can take out my shopping bags. He helps me carry everything to the door. “We forgot to buy shoes,” he practically shouts. “The killer stilettos. How could we forget them?”

“Zappos,” I say.

“Right,” Henry says. He leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Just order now so the shoes arrive in time for Christmas.”

Henry walks back to the Camaro and I run up the flight of stairs to my apartment. I set down all of my bags and unlock the door. Tiny and Little hurry over to me. “Hi, babies,” I say. They scurry away when I start pulling in my goods. “It’s just clothes. Don’t be scared, kitties,” I coo. The cats slowly creep over to the bags and sniff them. “No cat hair on the clothes, you hear me?” I say. They’ve never seen me come home with so many things.