Mirage (2 page)

“Yet you’re not passionate about ancient history?”

“Not really. I mean I enjoy what I’m doing, but I’m only twenty-four. I’m not sure where I’m headed.”

“So you’re not planning to follow your mother’s footsteps?”

She looked up at him sharply, but the expression on his face was kind. Her wariness faded. “Maybe. Academic life might be interesting—my mother loves teaching. But the research component doesn’t appeal to me at all. And it would take another five or six years of hard work and living off part time jobs and student loans before I could even hope for a real job. Tenure-track positions are really hard to secure.”

Travelling as her mother’s assistant was a bonus for Julie. Not only was she paid to tour exotic locales, she learned more about history on one of these month-long trips than she did in an entire semester of studying. It wasn’t exactly a luxury trip, but they travelled in relative comfort, stayed at moderate but attractive accommodations, and had enough freedom to pursue their own interests. Julie liked visiting markets, and she always spent a lot of her free time window-shopping. She could never afford to buy much—nor could she carry it—but looking was free.

“As you say,” Marc continued, “you’re still young. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Julie smiled at the older man. He was divorced, she knew, respectful, and attentive to both her and her mother. She liked him.

She went back to her pancake, glancing around the table one more time, noticing Bish, their local guide, was staring at her again. She quickly looked away and focused on the twins’ brightly-colored, almost-too-tight T-shirts and frowned. For this trip she’d packed a limited selection of conservative clothes. She knew she wouldn’t be looking her best for the next few weeks, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Comfort and practicality were more important than style, especially when she considered some of the things they’d be doing. There would be camel and donkey rides, twelve-hour train trips and a night spent trying to sleep on an open-air felucca moored on the Nile.

She wasn’t happy about living out of a suitcase for an entire month, but it was a job. And if she couldn’t meet an interesting guy to play with, at least she was putting some distance between herself and Richard.

And that was a good thing, she thought, as she cleaned her plate.

After eating, the group splintered. The youngsters—Arnie, Becky, Colette and the twins—wandered over to the only bar in town that played western-style music. The older folks and Hannah wanted to walk through Palmyra’s ruined city at dusk.

Bish seemed eager to help. “I would be delighted to escort you through the ruins,” he said, staring hard at Julie. She wondered why she’d been so worried about looking dowdy in her plain clothes. Bish didn’t seem to find her unattractive.

“I’m sure my mother would be grateful,” Julie said to Bish with a polite grin. “But I’m going to call it a night.”

He scowled at Julie as Sharlene stood up from the table and said, “Thank you, Bish. You’re a true gentleman. It’s a little spooky out there.”

Julie loved the ruined city at night, lit up by floodlights to emphasize the Roman ruins to advantage against the dark skies. But tonight she wanted to walk with Peggy back to the hotel so she could snatch an hour of alone time. Sharing a room with her mother didn’t afford her the privacy she needed to think about Richard.

After paying for her meal, she crossed the street to the spot where the bike had been parked. Looking down, she saw tire tracks in the fine dust, as clear as if they’d been pressed into mud. Her gaze followed the zigzag patterns down the road, straight into the desert, where they disappeared into the dusk.

Julie’s mom often hired a local guide when she led a tour. It was good for the regional economy, she figured, and it gave her a break. There was plenty of money in her budget to pay for Julie and a few others to help her. Although her area of specialization was Bedouin culture, the people on her tours expected her to have answers to every sort of question about all aspects of Middle Eastern life—past, present and future. She couldn’t always answer them, especially in Syria. Because very few Syrians spoke English, she needed a translator as well as someone who could explain the customs of such a foreign culture. A local guide could also help her with the sometimes challenging tasks of buying bus tickets, reserving restaurant tables and negotiating with hotel staff. Julie knew that as a woman, her mother was often misled or, even worse, ignored by the men who were in charge of such things.

Last year, on the advice of a colleague, she’d hired a wonderful man in Damascus. But Ahmed had retired since then, and offered the services of his nephew, Bish. In his late twenties, Bish had a university degree in history and excellent spoken English. He was also handsome—maybe too handsome, Julie thought. He was clearly full of himself as he preened and paraded around in front of his Canadian charges like a rooster in a henhouse. He carried more luggage for the week than Julie had packed for the entire month. She and her mother wondered what was in those big bags of his.

With Hannah, Bish was borderline efficient and polite to the point of being obsequious. But with Julie he was unreserved and flirtatious, not shy about having identified her as the most attractive female of the group.

She didn’t really enjoy his attentions, however. She might have been looking for a little fling, but she wasn’t about to start carrying on with one of the locals. It wasn’t professional. Of course her mother would find out, and that would be embarrassing. Especially after Richard.

Besides, Bish annoyed Julie. He was too aware of his good looks, too casual about his flirting. She tried to avoid him, but she’d already had to ask for his help with a dozen little things. He made a big deal out of every one of them, implying that Julie should be grateful for his expertise, and perhaps consider rewarding him.

The next morning, Bish hired a local bus to take the group to the Temple of Ba’al. They all laughed when it lurched up to the front door of the Palm Guesthouse, looking like a refugee from a nineteen seventies movie about Marrakech. Painted with psychedelic motifs and peace symbols, it sported ric-rac fringe on top of its cracked and dirty windows. As everyone boarded, they were greeted by a grinning driver with a hand-rolled cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Julie couldn’t help smiling when he drew her attention to the dashboard. He seemed proud of his collection—an icon of the Virgin Mary, a statuette of Ganesh, a string of Nepalese prayer flags and a pink plastic piggy bank. She dropped a few coins into the piggy bank and made her way to a seat covered in ancient cracked turquoise leatherette. The bus was in pretty bad shape—both doors were missing and a stair at the back exit had collapsed. Surprisingly, it managed to get them to the temple without breaking down. She helped Bob and Rhonda negotiate the missing stair, then put on her sunglasses and straw hat. It was going to be hot.

She wasn’t up to sightseeing in the heat, and felt boredom settling over her. She was also annoyed with Bish, who was busy playing the cock of the walk as he led everyone through the admission gate. She trailed listlessly behind the group, taking a few photos and trying to erase the image of Richard’s lying face.

They were in love, she and Richard. Or at least that was what Julie had believed. But after almost a year of his procrastinating, she was having some serious doubts about his feelings for her. He’d
promised
, at least a half dozen times, to arrange his life so they could move in together. He’d
promised
that it would be after his daughter’s surgery, which, it turned out, was just a
nose job
. And then it was going to be in the spring, after his son graduated high school. It was spring now, and Julie was still living alone in her studio apartment in the West End, paying far too much rent.

Of course there was always another excuse. “You couldn’t possibly understand, honey. The life of a divorced man is never simple,” Richard insisted, caressing her cheek after a particularly quick bout of love-making at her apartment. “Now we’ve got to put the dog down. Finally, thank Christ.”

She’d rolled her eyes at the ceiling and put on her clothes. “And this is your problem why?” The dog lived in Kerrisdale with his ex-wife, Betty, and the two teenagers.

“Betty’s in hysterics over it. She can’t take him in. I have to do it.”

As far as Jackie could see, Betty must be the most inept person on the planet. She couldn’t seem to make a single decision—or complete the simplest of tasks—without Richard’s help.

Julie sighed, but Richard wasn’t finished. “And you know the department’s under review. And how stressed I’ve been,” he said with just a hint of petulance in his voice as he buttoned his shirt. “Let’s talk about this later, okay? After the damn dog’s dead, and my review is finished, when I can relax a little.” He kissed the tip of her nose and put on his coat. “I can’t see you until the weekend. Where do you want to go for dinner on Saturday? I’ll make reservations.”

Two weeks later it was his mother. She was ill and needed Richard to run her errands. Shortly after that, a distant cousin arrived from back East and Richard was pressed into more family duties. The worst excuse he dared to make was when he said he couldn’t come with Julie to look at apartments because his car needed new brakes. She almost walked out after that one.

But she didn’t. She loved him. After every emergency or celebration or simple life event, he would apologize, make love to her, and
promise
all over again.

Once or twice she
had
tried to end it, feeling ashamed of carrying on with a non-committal type of man—a non-committal man who was making no moves to change. A cowardly, lying, procrastinating, son-of-bitch non-committal man. Each time Julie grew cool toward him, Richard would redouble his efforts to string her along. He took her to fancy restaurants, on romantic weekend getaways. Rented a pretty little cottage in the woods, then a penthouse suite in downtown Victoria. And, once, they went on a mini-cruise to San Francisco.

At first, Julie had loved Richard with all the enthusiasm of a healthy, earnest, intelligent young woman. Of the men she’d known, he was the smartest, the funniest, the most charming. Maybe he wasn’t the best-looking. Maybe he was starting to lose his hair, and his body was getting a little slack. But she loved him regardless. She had convinced herself that he was the love of her life.

They’d met on her first day of graduate school. He was the hot-shot professor in the History department, and she was his new research assistant. At first, she wasn’t particularly interested, but through his slow, relentless pursuit she began to believe she was somehow special. After all, she was the one he’d singled out as his personal assistant. Therefore, she reasoned, she
must
be special. He was always surrounded by admirers, both male and female, but it was Julie he wanted to be with. She was flattered.

Then it was just a matter of feeding her enough white wine to wear down her defenses.

Julie knew that Hannah hadn’t been impressed when she learned that her only daughter was Professor Richard Wakeman’s new squeeze. One day, over a home-cooked dinner in her kitchen, Hannah had broached the touchy subject.

“Sweetheart, you know that every year he chooses a new student as his
personal
assistant.”

Julie wouldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. “Yeah. I know.” She pushed the grilled halibut around on her plate.

“And you also must know that at the end of every academic year, that young woman is unceremoniously replaced by a younger model.”

“But this is different.” She felt tears start to rise as she looked up at her mother.

Hannah sighed and put down her fork. “How is it different?”

Julie might have been too embarrassed to face the ugly facts of Richard’s character, but she wasn’t as much embarrassed as she was in love. She was so in love that she wouldn’t hear a word spoken against him.

“We’re in love. And we’re going to move in together. Then we’ll get married.” Julie wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

“Oh, Julie! Surely you can’t believe that!”

Now she
was
embarrassed. “Why not? People change.”

“Sweetheart, people
don’t
change.”

Julie sat motionless, saying nothing.

“Especially not men. Remember your father?”

Julie heard the tremor in her mother’s voice.

“Richard’s nothing like Dad! How can you even think to compare them?”

She felt sick, and stood up. “Just because you couldn’t hang onto Dad doesn’t mean that I can’t hold onto a man.” Shocked at saying such a terrible thing, Julie walked to the door and put on her coat. “I have to go now. Thanks for dinner.”

All the way home Julie fought back the stinging tears of regret and pain. She knew there was a good chance her mother was right. And it was killing her.

The next day she dropped in to Hannah’s office and apologized. Then she said that, if the job was still vacant, she would love to accompany her again as her assistant on her cultural tour of the Middle East in May.

Julie squinted up through her dark glasses at the bas-relief carving of the seven planets known to the ancient world. She was standing in the northern chamber of the temple, trying to ignore Bish’s running commentary. Surrounding the planets were images of the twelve signs of the zodiac. When she was younger, she wouldn’t have given two hoots about astrology. But now that she was more mature, she knew better than to discount any kind of belief system,

They’re so old. It’s hard to imagine living in a world that knew only seven planets and relied on horoscopes to make life decisions. But maybe that’s better than relying on your emotions.

Bish’s self-important voice kept grating on her nerves.
“Two thousand years ago, the Temple of Ba’al was dedicated to the worship of a Semitic god,” he said. “It was the most important religious building in the Middle East. Its earliest form was Greek. But there are only a few stones left from the Hellenistic period. Over there.” He pointed to a half dozen smooth stones in the corner. “The rest of the remains combine near-eastern and Greco-Roman elements. Very rare. Take pictures.” He turned to Julie, who was standing as far away as she could without appearing rude. “Are you interested in architecture, Miss Julie?”