Cruel Beautiful World Page 4

  AFTER CLASS, AT his place, they worked on her writing, but he also taught her how to cook a few simple things, spaghetti and sauce, fish sautéed in a pan. He showed her how to put a clean nail inside a baking potato, because it would conduct heat and cook the potato faster, and how to rewire a lamp and fix a leaky faucet. He explained why she should always wear dark colors instead of the pastels she liked because it emphasized her pale skin and hair and made her beauty more extraordinary. He told her how she was going to be a very famous writer if she just listened to him. Then they sprawled out on his bed, and every time, he showed her something new she could do with her body. Something new she could do with his. They made love until it was time for her to go home.

  ONE DAY IN April, William was called out of his class again, and when he came back, Mr. Socker was with him. Mr. Socker sat in the back, his arms folded, and William handed out copies of Romeo and Juliet while the kids groaned. “No carrying on,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

  For the next three weeks, all he did in class was Romeo and Juliet, with Mr. Socker sitting in the back. Most of the kids thought it was a big bore, but every time Romeo was barred from seeing Juliet, Lucy sighed. It was like William and her, except their story would have a happy ending.

  Even following the curriculum, though, William still couldn’t seem to avoid trouble. Rumors flew again that he was too familiar with his students, that he had skipped a vocabulary lesson. When Lucy went to his apartment, when she tried to talk to him about it, he shook his head. “We can get a petition together,” she said. “Get all the kids to sign it, to fight for you—”

  “No,” he said. “Let me handle it.”

  She worried. Of course she worried. If William left, what would she do? How could she possibly live? She rubbed William’s back. She told him, “Everything’s going to be fine,” even though she was sick with panic. “Maybe you could get a lawyer,” she said, and he shrugged. “Lawyers cost money,” he said.

  But then, two weeks later, when she came over, his apartment was filled with candles and he was beaming at her.

  “You’re all right?” she whispered.

  “I resigned, Lucy.”

  “What?” The room blurred in front of her, flickering with lights. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now, honey. This has been a long time coming, and I wanted to do it right.”

  “To do what right?”

  “You’re looking at the new teacher at Spirit Free School. It’s totally progressive, modeled after Summerhill, and in the sweetest little town in Pennsylvania, where the air’s clean, the food’s fresh, and they’re dying to have me. They even pay their teachers in cash, because they want as little tax money as possible going to the war.”

  He was leaving here, leaving her. He was so happy he was vibrating around the room.

  “When?” she said.

  “I’m teaching out the end of the year. But I don’t want anyone knowing this, Luce. No good-bye party. No gossip. I wouldn’t even tell Socker where I was going. I don’t want him calling the school and souring them on me. I even gave the school a new name, like a fresh start. Billy Lalo. One l. Different enough, yet still me.”

  “But don’t you have to tell him?”

  “Lucy, it’s a new start. I don’t want anything to ruin this.”

  “Pennsylvania.” Tears pricked behind her eyes. There might be trains to the city, but not to a rural town, and how would she be able to see him so far away? He’d be lost to her. He’d meet some beautiful hippie teacher who had long hair and wore those lovely Indian gauze dresses, and Lucy would be back in high school, dragging through the corridors.

  He tilted her chin up. “What’s with this sad puss?”

  The room was whirling. “I thought you loved me.”

  “Of course I love you. What do you think this is about?”

  “You’re going away.”

  “Would you want to come with me?”

  His smile grew. She leaned against the wall, weak with relief. “You’re taking me with you?”

  “If you want to.”

  “Of course I want to. You’re my life.”

  He moved so he was balanced against the wall, too. He told her that as soon as he’d known he had the job, he’d begun looking around for somewhere to live, driving out to Pennsylvania on weekends, not saying a word to anyone, not even Lucy. His excitement about the job kept bumping up against his grief at having to leave Lucy behind. But he was so trapped, and she was a minor. What else could he do? He even told himself that it was for the best to make a clean break, that a girl like Lucy would easily find someone worthy of her.

  “Wait—you weren’t going to take me?” Lucy frowned, stung.

  “I tried not to, Luce. I really tried.” At first he just looked at studios. He didn’t need very much—and think of the money he would save! But then, in the back of his mind, like a dream, he kept seeing Lucy in the kitchens he looked at, standing by the stove, smiling. He saw her in the bathrooms, wet and silky from her shower, or standing in the woods behind the houses. Stop, he told himself. Stop. He needed to give her up, to move on. She was too young. It was too dangerous. But he couldn’t leave her. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work,” he said.

  She rested her head along his shoulder. “You make me feel like I can do anything.”

  “It’s our life. But it belongs to us, not to Iris or your sister or anyone else. We have to keep it secret—just for a little while—just until you turn eighteen. That’s not so long, is it?”

  There it was. Her future. She thought of Iris’s wanting her to go to secretarial school, and of Charlotte’s already throwing herself into college life before she was even in college. “I could be anywhere with you,” she said. She lifted her head up and kissed his mouth.

  NOW, SHE SEES William’s car. He’s sitting in the front seat but he doesn’t look at her. His face is in shadow. She strides over and gets into his car.

  Once she’s inside, he finally turns toward her, his smile deepening. Lucy feels as if she were dipped in gold.

  She wants to say, I love you. She wants to thank him for rescuing her, but when she does, he shakes his head. “You are the one who rescued me,” he says.

  “I’m so ready for this,” she tells him. She buckles herself into the seat belt. Her whole life is ahead of her, thrumming like angel wings.

  For a moment, before the car peels out, she wonders whether she’s left anything behind. Whether she’s making the right decision. She feels a pang for Iris, how Iris will be hurt when she discovers that Lucy is gone. How maybe she’ll be frightened. She wonders whether Iris will call the police, and what they’ll do and how they’ll do it. She fingers Charlotte’s red scarf and knows her sister will be angry with her. But she’ll forgive Lucy when she eventually learns the truth. She just has to. Lucy will miss them a lot, but there’s no other way for her. She doesn’t know, can’t yet imagine, what this will do to them. What will happen to her. How it will all end up splashed across the newspapers, but she won’t be around to read it.

  Chapter 2

  The night Lucy ran away, Charlotte and Iris were camped out in the living room, watching the old Bette Davis movie Jezebel. Charlotte had made popcorn, and she was trying not to cry as Bette Davis sacrificed herself to take care of her married lover, who had yellow fever, and when the credits began to roll, Iris sighed and said, “They don’t make movies like this anymore.” Was it worth it, to die with the one you loved, the way Bette had, Charlotte wondered, especially when he wouldn’t even know it? Did people really fall in love like that? She never had, and it made her a little sad. She was so awkward around boys. She could never think of what to say or do, and when she blurted out something about a movie she’d just seen or a book she loved, the boy usually just gaped at her and moved away. Who was she kidding? She was awkward around girls, too, and she was lucky she had her friend Birdie to hang out with. Charlotte turned off the set.<
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  “Your sister’s late again,” Iris said.

  Lucy was home less and less these days, and even though she had an eleven o’clock curfew, she never kept it. No, Lucy made a show of going to bed early, and then two hours later, Charlotte would hear a noise and look out her window, and there would be Lucy, in a glittery short skirt and tube top, running out to a car idling in front of their house. Lucy would come home at four, quietly fitting her key into the lock. Charlotte was always worried. “Where were you?” Charlotte asked, following Lucy into her room. “Were you with a boy? Where do you really go?” Lucy was always full of excuses. “I fell asleep at a friend’s,” Lucy said. “If you don’t believe me, you can call her,” Lucy said, but Charlotte never did.

  The few times Iris woke up, wanting to know what was going on, Lucy made it seem innocent. She didn’t stink of booze or grass. Her clothes were never torn or stained. “Don’t you know the things that can happen to a young girl out at night?” Iris asked her.

  Lucy sighed. “Why do you always have to think about the worst things?”

  “Because the worst things happen all the time.”

  “Not to me,” Lucy insisted. “Look, I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. And I promise it won’t happen again.” She yawned, stretching her arms over her head, and left the room. “I’m going to bed.”

  Five minutes later, Charlotte could hear the soft rumble of her snore.

  Who knew where Lucy was now? And with whom? Charlotte tried to think where she might be if she were Lucy, but her mind went blank. She could never be Lucy, no matter what she did.

  Even when they were little, and their parents were alive, Charlotte had been the plain Jane, the coltish girl who was thoughtful and liked to look at the pictures in her books, play the piano, or sing along to her Peter Pan record, unlike her parents, who were always having parties at the house or going out to them. Before Lucy was born, when Charlotte’s parents wanted her to dress up and show off to their friends by singing or playing the piano, she got so anxious she couldn’t do it. She saw the disappointment on their faces. “Why do you have to be such a mouse?” her mother asked her later. Her father slung his arm around her mother. “How did we two life-of-the-parties end up with a wallflower?” he said, shaking his head.

  But then there was Lucy. Rosy as a peach, with blond curly hair and lashes so long they left shadows on her cheeks. Of course, when she was born, Charlotte was jealous. Of course. She saw how her parents doted on Lucy, how they stopped begging Charlotte to come out at parties and instead paraded Lucy, letting everyone hold and admire her. And Lucy loved the attention, laughing and stretching out her hands to whoever was nearby. “What a flirt!” their mother said, admiration in her voice. But Charlotte couldn’t help herself from falling in love with her baby sister, too. Lucy smiled as soon as Charlotte entered the room. Lucy grabbed her hand and wouldn’t let go. Her eyes were always searching Charlotte out.

  Lucy turned two, and then three and four, and she tore around the house, singing songs so loudly they were almost a shout. She got into the canister of flour and dumped it on her head, laughing, saying, “Now I have white hair like Daddy!” and making their parents laugh, too. “You little live wire!” their mother said.

  Charlotte realized there was something she could give Lucy that her parents couldn’t. She could protect her from them. She could make sure that every night, she was lying in Lucy’s bed with her, their legs and arms entangled, so her parents couldn’t easily lift Lucy up and make her dance the twist to entertain their friends. She stayed in the backyard when Lucy was playing—and their mother was napping, in the chaise longue—to make sure the big dog next door didn’t come over and frighten her. Charlotte began reading stories to Lucy, too, until Lucy began to follow Charlotte around, yearning to hear another.

  And then their parents died, and Charlotte was terrified. What if she and her sister were split apart? If they were to get another family, wouldn’t the family want the pretty towhead rather than the one who was so shy she barely spoke? Even when Iris took them home, Charlotte steeled herself, thinking that at any moment Iris could give her back.

  But to Charlotte’s astonishment, Iris didn’t. Instead she loved both girls. She took them to the park every day, even though Charlotte didn’t like to run around wild the way Lucy did, preferring to sit on a bench reading or just watching. One day, Charlotte cautiously leaned against Iris. Iris stayed perfectly still until Charlotte curled closer, and then she lifted up her arm and hugged the girl near.

  THE NIGHT LUCY disappeared, Charlotte prowled the house after Iris went to sleep. She passed Lucy’s room, the empty bed, the cover carelessly thrown over it. Just the year before, Lucy had painted her walls red, which Charlotte had thought would look awful, but instead it made the room glow. Nothing looked any different. There was the poster of the Beatles tacked up beside one of the Rolling Stones. There was Lucy’s dresser, with all the cheap drugstore makeup she liked. Maybe Charlotte could take more time to spend with her sister. Maybe on the weekend they could bike into Harvard Square the way they used to and get raspberry lime rickeys and burgers at Brigham’s. She sat on Lucy’s bed and heard something rustle under the pillow. She pulled the sheet back and there it was. A white envelope. Writing on it. To Iris and Charlotte. Charlotte tore it open.

  Charlotte didn’t realize she was shaking until the paper flew out of her hands. “Iris!” she yelled. “Iris!”

  Iris called the police, her voice breaking on the phone. “Please!” she cried. “Hurry!”

  Two young cops came over and both read Lucy’s letter with uninterest. “Girls that age come back,” one cop said. He told her that all the kids today were like lemmings, making their way to San Francisco, poking flowers in their hair like idiots. Kids today smoked so much dope it’s a wonder they had any brain cells left. They played their music too loud and they dressed like buffoons, and the girls—nine out of ten of them—got pregnant. “Free love,” one cop snorted. “Nothing free about having a baby. And no respect for authority.” He looked pointedly at Charlotte.

  “I’m not a lemming,” Charlotte said. She was in a plain black T-shirt and blue jeans. She had a headband in her hair, which was cut to her neck, making her just about the only girl beside Lucy in the whole high school who didn’t have long hair. Charlotte might have a joint wrapped in strawberry paper in her sock drawer, but that didn’t make her a head. “I’m going to Brandeis in the fall.”

  “Okay, so not you, then,” said one of the cops. “Every other kid in the world but you.” He studied Charlotte. “Does she have a boyfriend?” the police asked. “A girlfriend she might have left with?”

  Charlotte stared at the cop. He actually had an angry zit on his chin. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course she doesn’t have a boyfriend,” said Iris. “I’d know about that.”

  “We’ll keep this,” the cop said, tucking Lucy’s note in his hand. “We have to wait twenty-four hours, then we can start looking.”

  “But where is she?” Iris cried. “A lot can happen in twenty-four hours! What does this look like to you?”

  The cop put one hand on her shoulder. “It looks like she’s alive and safe. And it looks like she wants you to know it.”

  Chapter 3

  William and Lucy were in Pennsylvania, after nearly six hours of driving. The traffic had been terrible and they had stopped overnight at a small motel, where the man at the desk had thought William was her dad. It was the first time she saw William angry, and the next morning, on their last stop, William had gone into a drugstore and bought her a tiny fake gold band. He slid it on her ring finger. “There. Now people should have no confusion,” he said. “Soon there’ll be a real one.”

  “I can’t wait to get to our home,” Lucy said.

  Home, what a funny word. But this would really be her home. She could find work and help with the bills. She and William would decorate, make it cozy. She’d be the lady of the house.

  Willi
am told her that he had always wanted to have a little farm with food he could grow himself, to see nothing in the distance but sky and trees. He couldn’t stand the Boston area, all its hum and noise, the bureaucracy of the school system, the way money seemed to rule everything and everyone.

  She loved William, but the deeper they got into the country, the more she felt doubt fluttering around her edges. When he had first mentioned Pennsylvania, she hadn’t realized how rural a place it really was. “The cities are dying,” he told her. “Going back to the land is the only thing that makes sense.” The only time she had ever really lived outside the city was when Iris put both her and Charlotte in overnight camp one summer. It was just two weeks, and Lucy had hated it—the bugs, the mosquitoes, the terrible silence at night. “There’s nowhere to walk,” she had said to Iris, but Iris had pointed out the miles of fields humming with grasshoppers, and Lucy had looked at her as if she were crazy. She got bitten alive on the nature walks. She was told to love the scenery, but the trees all looked the same. She didn’t even get to see or be with Charlotte because they were on opposite sides of the camp, and it was only later that she learned that Charlotte had been as unhappy as Lucy.

  You could take the country and throw it into the lake, she thought. She was a girl who walked from Warwick Avenue to Belmont to catch the bus to Harvard Square, where she could cruise the streets and go in and out of every shop or sit in the Common listening to music, her face lifted to the sun.

  Well, William was wonderful and he had happened to her. And maybe being in the country would be different when you were with the person you loved. It wouldn’t matter where you were, anywhere would be paradise. It was a new experience she could write about. And she would be lying if she didn’t think that William might grow tired of the solitude, too, that maybe they could stay here until she was eighteen and then move to San Francisco or Los Angeles. “Think about what you want to see five years from now,” William said, “and I will make it happen,” and Lucy always thought of the two of them in a small, bright apartment, a glittering city spread below them like a banquet.