These Foolish Things (12 page)

She nodded. “A couple of times. Usually after he’d been
drinking or had an argument with my mother. He had a vicious backhand that
could knock me off my feet. Mostly, though, he just screamed and then wouldn’t
speak to me for days. Wouldn’t listen to my apologies and wouldn’t apologize if
he was wrong. I didn’t date, so there were never boys calling or coming around
to take me out. One day, my father came out and asked me if I was a lesbian or
just frigid like my mother,” She dashed the tears away from her eyes. “That
just about killed me.”

She looked at Ty. “I guess we all have our demons, huh?” Ty
just nodded silently.

They sat for a couple of minutes, the only sounds coming
from the radio and the rain. Neither looked at the other until Liz stood up,
reaching for a candle.

“Where are you going?” asked Ty.

“Kitchen. I have a gas stove and I’m going to make some tea.
I think we could both do with some.” Before Liz could get more than a couple of
steps from the table, Ty was on his feet, gently pushing her back into her
chair.

“Did I ever tell you that I was a Rhodes Scholar?” he said.
“Believe me, you spend enough time in Britain, you learn how to make a pot of
tea.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll take care of this.” Liz told him where
to find everything and Ty disappeared into the kitchen again, taking the candle
from her hand.

Liz put her feet up on the chair and hugged her knees. Rainy
weather made the old healed breaks in her leg and ankle ache and tonight was no
exception. It always reminded why they’d happened in the first place. She
hugged her knees even tighter. She told herself that Ty was probably
embarrassed and wanted to be alone in the kitchen right now. Liz would give him
that space.

“Find everything?” she called out to him. “Want some help?”

“No, I’m doing just fine,” he called back. “Just stay put.”

Yeah, he wanted to be alone.

Liz fiddled with the dial of the radio, trying to find a
station that was coming in clearly and with something worth listening to. She
bypassed country, classic rock, oldies, rap, classical, talk radio, show tunes
and folk in search of something suitable. She found a station she’d never
listened to playing Diana Krall. “Popsicle Toes.”

Ty came in from the kitchen carrying a makeshift tray
containing a mug, teapot and another bottle of beer. He cocked his head and
listened to the music for a minute. “Sounds like our friend Diana,” he
remarked.

“It is. I love this song. I don’t remember her playing this
one that night we saw her,” said Liz. She was still balled up in the chair. Ty
sat down and looked at her.

“Are you cold, Liz?” he asked. He leaned over and touched
her forehead. “Got popsicle toes to be unfroze?” He playfully grabbed her toes.
Liz immediately stiffed and he withdrew his hand as quickly.

“I’m fine, I swear. The weather makes my leg ache where it
was broken. For some reason, this feels like the thing to do.”

If Ty took these comments at anything other than face value,
his expression didn’t reveal it. He poured out tea for Liz.

“You know, not every man wants to hurt you.” Ty said.

“I know.” He had noticed. “The storm makes me jittery.”

“Just the storm?” She looked at him. “You’re sitting there
in almost a fetal position, I notice you shake or remove yourself every time I
touch you, you don’t initiate contact unless you’re unaware of what you’re
doing and you act like you’re dying to get away from me. So is it all men or,” he
swallowed some beer, “just me?” He was watching her face closely.

Liz was silent, bracing herself against remembered pain.
“No, not you,” she whispered. She found herself continuing. “High school was a
nightmare,” she began. “I was the first girl in my class to develop breasts and,”
she motioned towards her chest, “that made me a target. From junior high on,
the boys thought it was hysterical to try to grab them or grab at my crotch.” She
could still feel the hands, feel herself slapping at them. “When I was a
junior, someone started a rumor that I’d said I’d take on the basketball team.
Whether they believed it or not, I don’t know, but some of the guys cornered me
one day.”

She inhaled, still feeling the terror and humiliation. Liz
had tried so hard to forget this memory, but it was so deeply imprinted in her
memory, she still relived it, sometimes waking up crying and screaming.

“What happened?” asked Ty. He reached for her hand. “It’s
okay. You’re not in high school anymore. They can’t hurt you now. Maybe it’ll
help if you tell me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Liz looked at him, seeing concern and compassion on his
face. She continued. “They backed me into a corner in a hall where people
didn’t go very often. A couple of them started rubbing against me with their
hard-ons. The leader had his fly unzipped and…” she closed her eyes, bile
rising from the fear, “he grabbed my hand and used it to jerk off.” Unconsciously,
she tried to rub the non-existent semen from her hand. “He said if I told the
principal, they’d come back and rape me.” Her breathing was ragged, she was
shaking.

Liz felt herself being pulled into his arms. She didn’t
resist. His embrace was powerful, crushing, warm and comforting. She buried her
face into his shirt. Her shirt on his body. She thought she felt his lips
against her hair. She shivered and he released her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Ty said softly, “I
wasn’t thinking.” He brushed his fingers against her face. “You didn’t tell
your folks, did you?”

Liz nodded. “Not everything. My mother said ‘that’s what
happens when you wave your tits around.’”

“You never said anything to the principal, either, I’ll bet.”

Liz shook her head. “No, but Joey DiNardo heard them talk
about it. He and Rocco beat the shit out of those guys one by one. The one who
had,” she groped for a phrase, “‘used’ my hand, they hit between the legs with
a tire iron.”

“I got off easy, I guess,” said Ty with a smile. “Did that
end it?”

“No,” Liz said flatly, “The in-crowd girls toyed with me.
When Senior Prom came around, they arranged for the boy I had a crush on to ask
me to go. I was so excited,” Liz could feel the tears rising. “I raided my
savings account and bought a beautiful dress. I spent two hours getting ready.”
Liz looked at Ty, a bitter smile on her face. “My father just stood there and
looked relieved. He’d asked me the lesbian question a couple of months earlier.
I was waiting upstairs so I could make my big entrance. And I waited for 3
hours.”

“Never showed, did he?” Ty asked quietly.

“No,” Liz whispered. “But his picture was in the paper the
next day because he and his real date had been crowned King and Queen. When I
went back to school the first day afterward, the boys had stupid grins on their
faces and the girls would look at me and giggle. They wanted me to cry. I
wouldn’t do it. I wanted to die, but I didn’t want them to have the
satisfaction of knowing it.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? When was the last time you
cried, Counselor?” Ty was looking at her, studying her face.

“When the ball rolled through Bill Buckner’s legs.” Liz
reluctantly pushed away and picked up her mug and sipped. “Good tea.”

It was a way to let an unpleasant subject drop. Ty looked
like he wanted to discuss it some more, but he let it drop.

The doorbell rang. Liz gave Beanie a withering look to keep
him in his chair. He stayed.

Ty moved towards the front door. Liz heard him open the door
and admit Fred. She heard the men exchange the usual sort of conversation that
people engage in when a delivery of food arrives. Liz went to the breakfront
and pulled a number of painted glass dishes out of the cabinet. By touch, she
found placemats, napkins and silverware. She and Ty returned to the table at
the same time.

He looked at her burden. “What’s that?” He spied the
silverware and a disdainful expression crossed his face. “Forks for Chinese
food? Unthinkable!”

“Look, no matter how I try, I’ve never gotten the hang of
chopsticks and I thought ‘what the hell, let’s use the good stuff,’” Liz
replied. “After all, Katie here could huff and puff and blow the house down.”

Ty laughed quietly. He unloaded cartons from a plastic bag.
One carton caused him to frown. “Hey, this one seems kind of light.”

“That’s the Beanie Box,” Liz said. She quickly set out the
placemats and china. Ty picked up a plate and examined it in the candlelight.
“This is unusual. What is it?” He turned the plate over in his hands.

“It’s Sydenstricker from the Cape,” Liz answered. “I
inherited a few settings from my mother and I’ve managed to collect a few more
over time.” She leaned in to point out a feature of the dish. “See? They paint
the pattern on one piece of glass, put another piece over it, fire them both
and you get the pattern inside a glass sandwich.” Ty seated himself and began
serving himself from cartons. Liz poured soup into an iris-decorated bowl for
herself. She eyed one bulging box.

“Spare ribs?” Ty offered the box. Liz took a couple. Beanie
started to get on the table.

“Hey!” Liz’s yell was sharp. Beanie retreated, the picture
of offended dignity.

Ty looked at him. “Is he going to sit there for the entire
meal?” he asked as he licked sauce from his fingers, something Liz wanted to do
for him. Instead, she covered with action.

“No. Watch this,” Liz took the Beanie Box and opened it
slightly, leaving the wire handle up. She placed the box nearer to Beanie than
any of the other cartons. Beanie’ whiskers began to twitch as he sniffed. Liz
saw him lick his chops.

“Okay, now pretend you’re not watching,” she told Ty. Ty
turned his head slightly, pretending to busy himself with egg rolls. Liz
spooned up a mouthful of soup.

Beanie struck. With a lightning-fast paw, he grabbed the
Beanie Box and hauled it into range. He finished opening the carton with a
combination of paws and teeth and seized his prize. He dove under the table
with his spare rib. Liz could hear him chewing. Ty was leaning back and
laughing. He applauded.

“Very good, Counselor. I wasn’t expecting a floor show with
dinner. What does he do for an encore, plate spinning?” The radio began to play
Dave Brubeck’s rendition of “These Foolish Things.”

Liz scooped some rice and cashew chicken onto her plate. As
she went to pick up her fork, Ty stopped her, his hand on hers.

“Chopstick school is now in session. No forks. Here. Watch
closely.”

He picked up a pair of chopsticks. “See how this one just
sits? Now look.”

He exaggerated placing the second stick between his
forefinger and middle finger. “Just like holding a pencil. You try.”

Liz awkwardly picked up the second pair of sticks, one eye
on Ty’s hand as she tried to mimic the way he was holding his chopsticks.

“No. You’re gripping too hard. Just relax,” Ty put down his
chopsticks and took hold of Liz’s hand. The touch caused her to inhale sharply.
Ty looked at her and let go.

“All right, look, if this is going to bother you, never mind,”
he said. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

Liz reached for his hand. “No, look, please. You’re right,
not everyone wants to hurt me. I’ve just been on the defensive for so long,
it’s a reflex.” She didn’t mention that his touch had caused a shock wave of
desire throughout her body.

Ty took her hand again and gently shook out the tension.
“Okay, now, relax. Good.” His tone was calming, gentle.

“Okay, now pick up that piece of chicken and give it to me.”

Liz picked up the chicken, dropped it, then picked it up
again. She started to transfer it to Ty’s plate, but he took hold of her hand
and guided it to his mouth. Liz felt him take the chicken from her chopsticks,
their eyes locked on each other. This isn’t happening, she thought. This is
foreplay. He can’t possibly…

Ty’s voice cut her train of thought. “Sorry,” he said with a
grin, “I got hungry.” He still held her hand. “See? You can do it.” He gently
squeezed her hand. He let go to pick up his chopsticks and continue eating.

Liz’s nerveless fingers almost dropped her chopsticks again.
She didn’t dare look up at him, focusing on her food instead.

“How’d you get to be such a chopstick expert, Ty?” she
asked, tension raising her voice an octave.

If he noticed, he ignored it. “Lots of nights at work. I
think we run a tab at the local take out place.”

Liz blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you might be sick
of…”

He cut her off. “Actually, this is a lot better than the
stuff I usually eat. What’s the name of this place again?”

“Green Dragon Wall,” Liz busied herself with the chopsticks,
successfully putting chicken into her mouth. “I have to remember to ask Roger
if they want to make another donation this year.”

“Excuse me?” Ty looked at her curiously. “Donation?”

Liz nodded. “Yeah, for the auction at the Barrister’s Ball.
In fact,” she added, “I was going to work on the stuff tonight.”

“What stuff? It looked like there were items on your spare
bed…”

“I have a bunch of the items upstairs,” Liz said, “Dan
volunteered me for the auction committee after they’d asked him to do it. We
started getting donations early and I need to inventory them. You must have
seen them when you hung up your clothes.” She paused, wondering how far she
dared to go. “I suppose I could do it tomorrow, but” she eyed Ty, “I’ll need to
clear off that for you, anyway.” God, that sounded lame and prissy.

Eyebrows up, Ty asked, “Is that an invitation to spend the
night, Counselor?” There was a teasing edge to his voice.

Liz didn’t dare look at him. Eyes down on her plate,
blushing, she said, “I’m not sending you out on a night like this. I take care
of my friends.”

“So,” Ty said softly, “you see us as friends?”