The Snow Garden (16 page)

     “You aren’t one of those career anorexics, are you?”

     “Do I look like one?”

     “Good. I’ll meet you out front as soon as I finish this,” Jesse said to the machine.

     She turned, took a few steps, and then stopped. “Do I even have to tell you this isn’t a date?”

     “Please. Who takes their dates to the Ivory?” he asked.

     She nodded.

     “I’ll be right out,” he said, one finger poised on the copy button.

     Ten minutes and two cigarettes later, he met her in front of the library, and as they descended the steps, Kathryn realized she was shooting glances in every direction to see what familiar faces they might come upon. Jesse noticed too and let out a throaty laugh.

     “What?”

     “You don’t want to be seen with me, do you?”

     “With all due respect— ”

     “Hey, I’m actually
due
respect from you! You should have told me awhile ago.”

     Kathryn continued, unfazed. “Most of the girls spotted with you end up being the butt of a joke.”

     “Yeah, well, you obviously have something to ask me, or otherwise you wouldn’t risk it.”

     The Ivory was the rundown snack bar in the Union where students could use their leftover meal plan points to buy undercooked pizza and greasy piles of French fries. Kathryn waited for Jesse to obtain his lunch, drumming her fingers on the table. Students around her feigned studying, their books spread open on tables as they conducted conversations over the backs of their chairs.

     “Sure I can’t get you anything?” Jesse set his slice of pizza down between them.

     “No. Thanks.”

     He nodded and slid one arm out of his navy pea coat. His bright red corduroy shirt was unbuttoned from the top just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of smooth chest. “Nice jacket,” she said.

     “Thanks. I bought it here.” He slung it over the back of his chair and took a seat. “The minute I got here I realized I’ve never owned a winter coat, so . . .”

     “I don’t even know where you’re from.”

     Jesse’s eyes met hers. “I’m not telling you.”

     As he took his first bite of pizza, Kathryn realized he was trying to be funny. “Why?”    
 

     “Because you hate me enough already.”

     “Quite the mind reader.”

     “Beverly Hills.”

     She couldn’t contain her laughter. “Where’s your cell phone?” she asked.

     “Don’t have one yet. But don’t worry, I’m getting one. I don’t want to pose a threat to your image of me as the Mercedes-driving, spoiled brat.” He chewed his pizza deliberately and then swabbed at his lips with the napkin in a manner she found oddly prissy.
Vain
,
she corrected herself. But there was no doubt that Jesse was acting unusually in her presence. His posture was more relaxed, his tone less suggestive than usual. After a few seconds, she realized she was seeing a Jesse free from the insipid, posturing charm he poured on his sexual conquests.

     “It sounded pretty bad the other night.” He saw her furrowed brow and continued, “The fire stairway isn’t exactly soundproof. You were on the phone.”

     “I was hardly yelling.”

     “Spend all your time in the dorm and you learn how to listen. Kind of like how a blind man develops excellent hearing. You sense when someone’s not playing their TV at the usual time. Or when someone slams a door too hard.” He made this comment with his eyes on hers. “It’s kind of cool,” he added before taking another careful bite.

     “Stockton drives me nuts. I have to go on a walk just to clear my head.”

     “I like it”

     “Why?”

     “It makes me feel safe. Like being in the womb. Knowing there’s constant activity above and below me.” He paused to chew. “When I was little I couldn’t go to sleep unless my parents were awake downstairs. If the house was quiet, I’d lie there with my eyes open. So . . He used the napkin to wipe his hands, and Kathryn wondered if Jesse, who familiarized himself with a new person’s private parts every weekend, was a closet germ freak. “Who were you talking to?” Jesse asked, with a bright smile that indicated he didn’t expect her to answer.

     She decided to answer indirectly. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

     She caught a flicker of something in his eyes, but it vanished before she could figure out whether it was anger. “No,” he answered.

     “And how are
your
parents handling that decision?” 

     “My mom’s dead.”

     Kathryn was startled into silence. There wasn’t any gravity in Jesse’s voice, and the abruptness of this revelation prohibited her from coming up with any response. “Oh ...”

     “She died when I was four and left me to take care of my father.”

     “Is he sick?”

     Jesse’s eyes moved past her as he nodded slightly. ‘You could say that.” He met her curious stare as he continued, “He has an illness specific to people with Type-A personalities. He’s a man who knows how to make things happen. Too many things sometimes. He’s got incredible talent, but sometimes his talent gets bigger than him. Kind of like a fire that he has to douse.”

     “He drinks?”

     Jesse nodded.

     “It’s really none of my business. I’m sorry if—”

     “Don’t be,” Jesse cut her off. “And who the hell made up that rule that people can only ask about stuff that’s their business? How are we supposed to learn anything that way?”

    
Clever,
Kathryn thought,
but you didn’t answer the question.
“Is he an actor?”

     “He was for about five minutes. Right before I was born, he was on this cop show that got yanked mid-season. After that, he couldn’t find anymore acting jobs, so instead of heading back to USC Law, he became a producer.”

     “Have I seen anything he’s done?”

     “Not unless you have a penchant for slasher flicks that get shipped straight to Asia. They love seeing blonde-headed Americans get sliced and diced over there.” Jesse finished his pizza, swabbed at his mouth again and folded his napkin before dropping it onto his plate. “Five more minutes of this, Kathryn, and I might think you’re hitting on me.”

     “You know better,” she told him, smiling. “Do you miss him?” “Who?”

     “Your father.”

     Without planning to, she had cornered him. If he said yes, that would seem odd in light of the fact that he wasn’t going home for the coming break. But instead of looking caught, Jesse cocked his head, lips pursed in thought, as if the topic of his father required him to summon the patience of a caretaker. “It was time to go. For me. And for him. He’s just having a little trouble realizing it.”

     “You sure went far.”

     “You’re one to talk. Kathryn Parker, Presidio Public, San Francisco, California,” he responded, quoting the information listed below her picture in the freshman face book. “What? Not a fan of the higher education in our home state?”

     “I wanted to see snow.”

     Jesse grinned, clearly appreciating the fact that her answer lacked even the pretense of honesty. Kathryn felt a strange tightening in her chest at the thought that he might be flirting. But Jesse's relaxed behavior hadn’t altered. She had witnessed a great many of his seductions and they had all been brief, carnal, and crude, like fingering a girl in the middle of a dance floor. Romance might be a foreign concept to him, and this interplay of smart aleck comment, gentle smiles, and awkward pauses was not his usual prelude to the sex act. Now Jesse was studying her intently, and without lust.

     “Kathryn, I don’t know where Randall’s going every night. But if he’s going to tell anyone, I would think it would be you.”

     She shifted in her seat and clasped her hands in her lap. “We don’t tell each other everything, Jesse.”

     “Could have fooled me.”

     She squinted at him, and from his curious expression she could tell she wasn’t the only one bothered by whatever Randall was up to, and that comforted her. “Do you know what time he came home last night?”

     “Now we sound like his parents.”

     “If Randall is seeing someone and not telling me about it,” Kathryn began, “it’s probably because he thinks that for some reason I wouldn’t approve—”

     “Maybe you wouldn’t,” Jesse cut in.

     “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t I?”

     “Well, let’s just say he’s perfectly aware of what you think of
my
sex life. Maybe he’d like to spare himself the same disapproval.”

     “Jesse, I’m not here to discuss your weekend activities.”

     “Why do you hate me, Kathryn?”

     “I don't hate you, Jesse.”

     “Kathryn, come on. I thought we already established this. In your own words, please.”

     Thrown, she took several seconds to gauge his sincerity as well as compose herself in the face of his sudden candor. “I think you hurt people,” she said, surprised to find herself speaking, her voice slightly hushed as if to soften the force of her words. “I think you use and then discard women in the name of feeding your ego. And I think it’s wrong.”

     Jesse’s face went lax. He bent one elbow against the table and rested his chin on one fist. “And if I told you that I learn more about a person during the two hours I spend in bed with her, as opposed to three weeks of hearing her talk about her father, or where she came from, you wouldn’t believe me?”

     “Not for a second. I think if you believe you’re actually getting to know any of them, then you’re deluding yourself. Specifically, so you can keep doing it without feeling any guilt.”

     Jesse tapped his fingers against one cheek as he considered this. “Kathryn, I don’t want to gross you out with any of the details, but I don’t really
hurt
any of them. They want what I have. I give it to them. And in a way, they walk away healed.”

     The only thing worse than witnessing Jesse’s hormones in action was hearing the emotionless, paper-thin rationalizations he used to defend them. “Jesse, what are we talking about here?” she asked, sitting forward.

     “You have a particular attitude toward sex.”

     “Who doesn’t?”

     “Whatever. The point is that your attitude might be different from Randall's. And that’s why he isn’t telling you where he’s going.” Jesse leaned back against his chair. “He got home at three, since you asked.” 

     He may have been free of posturing charm, but Jesse still had some ulterior motive. There was something suspicious about the confidence with which he discussed Randall, considering that Randall barely discussed Jesse at all. Maybe he was trying to demonstrate a superior knowledge of her closest friend; that thought frightened her more than being labeled a prude. “And just what is my attitude toward sex, Jesse?”

     “Maybe I’ve gotten off the subject... .”

     “Yeah, well, you brought it up. So, shoot, Freud!”

     “You’re afraid of it,” Jesse declared,

     “Because L won’t sleep with you, I’m afraid of sex.”

     “I don’t recall
asking
you to sleep with me,” Jesse said with mock indignation. “I’m just saying that to an outside observer it looks like—” 

     “Jesse, maybe that’s just it. You’re an outside observer, okay?”

     “Is Randall?”

     The thought that Randall was sharing insights about her with Jesse, of all people, made her feel both naked and isolated. “You’re saying that I’ve done something to make Randall afraid to be honest with me?”

     Jesse took a long pause to consider this. ‘You’re his best friend, Kathryn. And I live with him, whether you like it or not. Are you telling me that you never get the sense that there’s a large part of Randall that he keeps just out of everyone’s reach?”

     Of course she did, but she wouldn’t tell him. This whole conversation had come about because Randall had left the dorm late at night without telling his roommate or his best friend where he was going. Whenever he and Kathryn met up he was usually late and his excuse was that he was usually someplace by himself; the library or the bookstore. But even though Kathryn was aware of these chunks of missing time, they had never bothered her because Randall always seemed to have spent the time alone, pushing away the social clamor of campus life, and most important, not granting anyone else more access than he gave her..

     “Maybe,” she answered weakly.

     “Listen to him, Kathryn. The guy’s not just a private person. He’s a borderline loner. And good luck to the person who tries to get him to talk about his home life. The first few times he threw down that whole act about being uncomfortable with his parents’ wealth, I believed it. But now, it’s like he’s just trying to throw up a big roadblock. Personally, I’m surprised he's gotten as close to you as he has.”

     “And you?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Just how close are the two of you?”

     Jesse’s eyes widened at the implication and his mouth curled into an amused grin, as if he was taking pleasure in the fact that she had the nerve to suggest it at all. His only response was a laugh that shook his chest. “Now, there’s something that you
really
wouldn’t like, would you?” He got up from his chair, slung his coat over one arm, and picked up his empty tray. “Randall left out that you have an incredible imagination.”

     She glowered at the table in front of her and fought an urge to shoot him the bird. He’d been so confident and smug throughout their conversation that she had to think of a way to disarm him, prove that she wasn’t just a tortured little prude clinging desperately to her only friend. “Jesse?”

     He dropped his tray on top of a trash can and turned back to her. “Can you tell me something?”

     Jesse shrugged.

     “Why won’t Lauren Raines set foot on our floor?”

     Jesse's smile vanished. “Have you asked her?”

     “She wouldn’t say.”

     Jesse approached the table with his head bowed. “I hope she didn’t say that what happened wasn’t consensual,” he said in a low, firm voice.