A Self Made Monster (27 page)

Then he was back, standing over her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her drawl was weary, as if powered by fading batteries. Please just leave, she wanted to say. Please just leave forever.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Edward placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. “Thank you,” she said thickly, trying to sound appreciative. She avoided his gaze, but he was persistent. She turned away, and he moved to the other side of the table to be nearer to her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked for the sixth time.

“Please just leave me alone.” She made herself look at him.

Edward’s hopes increased. Could it be, he bravely wondered, that Claire was jealous of Holly? That Claire feared Edward had given her up for Holly? He pushed the idea aside even as he savored it.

“I’m sorry, but I think I’ve got something to do with you feeling bad.” Edward remembered not to grin. It was hard—everything was working out so goddamned well!

“Sort of.” How could this kid understand that he simply had a foolish crush on her? “But it’s more than you. It’s—” She looked away. “I need some time just to myself. I’d rather not talk about it, really.”

A thrill shot through Edward’s heart. She really did want him! He wanted to bring her hand to his mouth. The drama of the situation became cinematic, and Edward the aspiring movie director imagined what should come next:

Edward: “We’ve been hiding our attraction for a long time.”

Claire: (Now resting her head on his shoulder) “A long time.”

Edward: (Resting his hand on her lap) “Our lives are going in different directions, Claire. It’s sad, but it’s happy too.”

Claire: “What should we do?”

Edward (Caressing her thigh) “I’m with Holly too, so I know you can’t put up with that forever, but—” (Claire submits to desire by closing her eyes, leaning against Edward, and squeezing his probing hand between her thighs).

Claire: “But?”

Edward: “We can be together for one night.”

Claire: (Pushing herself against him) “Let’s do it.”

Edward: “You mean—”

Claire: “Shank me, Edward.”

Edward fidgeted while Claire looked away.

“If you don’t want to talk about it…” Edward said softly.

“Not right now.” He’s so goddamned dumb, Claire thought. I’ve dropped enough hints and he still comes sniffing around.

“Okay. I won’t push it. But when you said on the phone last night that you wanted to talk to me, I thought it had something to do with us.”

Claire said something, but Edward did not understand because her hand was over her mouth.

“What did you say?”

“It has a little to do with us, but it has more to do with me,” she repeated listlessly.

Maybe, Edward thought, she feels inadequate. Being older but a freshman. Divorced, starting a new life—maybe she thinks I won’t accept her.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No.”

“Let’s try this,” Edward said briskly. “How about we just put our talk on hold until Saturday?”

“Why Saturday?”

“I’m having an end of the semester party Saturday night.”

Claire tried to sound interested. “Who’s coming?”

Her question bothered Edward—what did it matter, as long as he was there? “It’s just a small party. Those two people you just met, Jimmy and Holly. They might bring a couple friends along. Professor Resartus, too.”

Claire nodded.

“Bring a friend over. At least come over and have a few beers. Let your hair down.” And your pants, he thought.

She considered the invitation. The professor was interesting, and Holly was cool. What was wrong with a little beer and casual talk?

“Thanks, Edward. I’ll be there.”

Beer in hand, Edward spent the evening cleaning his apartment. He even tried smoking: he knew that parties featured lots of enthusiastic smoking. The cigarette was terrible, but he kept the pack for his guests.

The odds seemed good: two women (maybe more if they brought a friend) in his apartment and lots of booze. Jimmy was no competition. No, Jimmy was merely a hired hand, a guy sneaky and small enough to attach a lock to Edward’s apartment in the middle of the night. Resartus—well, he was interesting, but probably not sexually attractive. Edward would be the evening’s star: the guests would enjoy his hospitality, his booze, his wit. Ed the Head, they would think, is a happening dude.

He imagined Holly sitting on the couch. She wore shorts and a sleeveless tee. She was flush with beer and mischief—a sheen of sweat on her upper lip—and she was eyeing him. He sat beside her.

Giggling, she slapped his hand from her neck. As the party got loud and loose, she jammed two bottles of beer in her shorts, took his hand, and led him to the bedroom.

Claire was in bed, the sheet drawn lazily over her midriff.

“Don’t you know a conspiracy when you see one?” Claire asked. “We got you drunk so you’d come to bed with us.”

Just before the party was to start, Edward judged he had used too much cologne, so he took a quick shower. The air was still florid with cologne, so he took another shower and opened all the windows. A minute after the second shower, he was perspiring.

To further guard against odor, he took another shower and splashed on more cologne.

He was thinking about another shower when someone knocked on the door. “Just a moment,” he called. He wiped off the excess cologne and checked the living room one more time: peanuts in bowls, two packs of Arctic Blast cigarettes near the ashtray.

Edward took the stairs in one giant step. He opened the door, welcoming his guests with a rigid grin.

Nobody was there.

His grin was wasted on a squirrel who searched the weedy yard for nuts. Edward threw a stone at the squirrel. It missed by three yards, and the squirrel did not move.

“So that’s what you’re servin’ us. Stewed squirrel.” Claire was standing by the corner of the house.

“Good to see you,” Edward blurted. He meant it: Christ, was she good to see. She wore her customary faded jeans and white blouse. Her wavy hair was in a bun atop her head; a pencil served as the hairpin.

Her elegance was natural. She would be lovely in a feed bag.

“While I was waitin’ for you to answer the door, another guest arrived.”

Holly appeared, twelve-pack in hand. “Just in case we run out,” she announced. Edward nodded and remembered not to stare. Holly wore a belly-and-bust-hugging white tee and baggy black shorts. Now she stood beside Claire, and the two looked related: they shared a mischievous smile, one corner of their mouths higher than the other.

“Come in, please.” Edward relieved Holly of the twelve-pack. As he followed them in, Edward allowed himself a small gesture of victory: he thrust his arms into the air like a winning boxer.

“When are the other folks comin’?” Claire asked.

“Any time now.” He fervidly hoped nobody else would show.

Claire and Holly sat on the couch while Edward made them drinks: a gin and tonic for Holly, a screwdriver for Claire. Edward strengthened each drink by adding two fingers of vodka.

He served the drinks on a tray, and Claire nodded approvingly. “How gentlemanly.”

“Wow,” Holly said. “This is a strong drink.” She squinted, then swallowed half in one gulp.

“Careful honey,” Claire cautioned. “Edward’s tryin’ to get us drunk.” She folded her legs beneath her, took a cigarette from the pack on the end table.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Edward said.

“Only when I party. Goes down nicely with a drink.”

Holly shook her head. “I used to smoke in high school, but I quit when I started running. It really cuts your wind.”

Edward sipped his own drink: white wine. He wanted to be relaxed, not drunk. He figured that seduction was easier when only the seducee was drunk.

“So Kris couldn’t make it?” Edward asked Holly.

“She’s trying to catch up so she can turn in her stuff late. You’d think she’d learn after two years in a row of lowered grades. But she’s too busy partying to study during the semester.”

“When I was nineteen and twenty,” Claire said, “I was working at a K Mart in
Atlanta
to save money for college. I didn’t have the time or cash to party much.” She examined her nearly empty glass. “I didn’t even know how to party,” she chuckled. “When I finally was able to go to school—after a marriage, after movin’ to Peoria, after gettin’ a divorce—after all that, I get to college and I figure, ‘Great, I’ll be around people who like books, who like to study, who like to learn.’ You know, I’ll be around real students.”

“Yeah, all three of them,” Edward said. Holly stuck out her tongue at Edward.

“Finally,” Claire continued. “I’m learnin’ how to party.” She drained the rest of her glass and lit another cigarette. “I knew I’d like college.”

They laughed and Edward rose to get more drinks. Standing in the kitchen, he felt woozy. The wine did not cause the wooziness: the company of two attractive women caused it. He had never enjoyed such company. Maybe Resartus and Stubbs really won’t make it, he hoped, and then—who knows? Stretch the party out over the weekend.

“Come on in,” Holly yelled.

Jimmy Stubbs stumbled into the apartment. He had already been drinking; he stood unsteadily beside the couch, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

“I met you yesterday, didn’t I?” he asked Claire. He tried to focus his eyes.

“You sure did.” Claire lit his cigarette. “My name’s Claire Sweet.”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t bring along anybody?” Edward asked.

“Nah. The guys in the frat house are already gone for the summer. They couldn’t wait to get outa this town. Can’t blame ‘em. Not much to do in the summer, unless you’re taking classes. But that’s not exactly entertainment.”

Jimmy began to complain about his advisor, who had demanded Jimmy re-take two business classes this summer. “I’m sick of this place as it is. And to stick around during the summer.” He snorted, and the snort turned into a ripping cough.

“Have another smoke,” Claire joked.

“In a moment, thank you,” he gagged.

“I should have bought more than two packs,” Edward remarked.

“I brought some,” Jimmy said. “And I congratulate you on your good taste. We both like the same brand.” Jimmy tossed his pack of Arctic Blast menthols onto the end table.

“Whoops,” Claire said. “Someone else at the door.”

“Door’s open,” Edward said.

Alex Resartus entered. He stood politely inside the entrance, nodding hellos. He looked almost normal, dressed in a nearly-stylish charcoal jacket, white shirt, and black cotton slacks. The only odd touch was the tennis shoes: one black, the other blue.

“Good to see you could make it,” Edward said. He extended his hand, then led Alex into the living room.

Alex pushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “I thought I wouldn’t make it. My car has been running badly, and on the way over here it died on me. Had to push it for a bit.”

“Where is it?” Edward asked.

“In the parking lot for that apartment complex down the road. I think it’s called The Village.”

“How far did you have to push it?” Holly asked.

“About a half mile, I guess. A few people saw me, but nobody offered to help.”

“I think you need a drink,” Edward said. “How about a gin and tonic?”

“I’d love one.”

Jimmy frowned. He wondered if he could push a car a half mile. Then he remembered Alex’s stunt in class this afternoon. “Professor Resartus—”

“Please call me ‘Alex’.”

“Al, how did you pick that table up today? By the table’s, I mean with your teeth.”

“When I was a kid, my parents took me to the circus. I liked the stunts: high wire walking, trapeze, lion taming, juggling, all that. I liked to imitate them. I couldn’t walk a high wire, so I just started juggling things.”

“So you learned to juggle tables?”

“It’s easy, really. You just get it balanced. Once it’s balanced, it’s light.” He shrugged and sat down.

“What’s this all about?” Claire asked.

While Jimmy and Holly explained Alex’s stunt, Edward got more drinks.

Claire was skeptical about the story. “You tossed a desk back and forth?”

“Just like a softball,” Holly asserted.

“Prove it!” Claire cheerfully challenged.

 
“Maybe later,” Alex allowed.

After each guest had a fresh drink, Edward proposed a toast. “I’d like to make a toast to Professor Resartus, who has started writing a novel. May it sell a million copies.”

Everyone but Jimmy said “Cheers” and sipped their drink. Jimmy was wondering why anyone would want to even read a novel; actually writing one was beyond stupid.