I asked him about this one night and he just grumbled some monosyllabic answer. But what else is one to do at college except drink beer or slash your wrists? I thought to myself as he got up, stalked over to the video machine, slipped in another quarter. I stopped complaining.
Girl who killed herself got the flyer the rest of us all got in her box, telling her that she was indeed dead and that there would be a memorial service for her in Tishman. I mentioned this one night when Sean and I were at The Pub having pre-party beers, and he looked at me and snorted, “Irony. Oh boy,” but he might as well have just snorted, “So?”
The poetry comes along. I haven’t stopped smoking. Judy tells me that Roxanne told her that Sean deals drugs. I tell her, “At least he doesn’t breakdance.”
SEAN I trudge and Lauren walks up the hill toward Vittorio’s house. It’s not too cold even if it’s late October, but I told her to wear a sweater just in case it got cold when we walked home. I was wearing a T-shirt and jeans when I told her this and she asked me, when we were in her room getting dressed, why she had to wear a sweater if I got to wear a short-sleeve shirt and therefore be more comfortable. I couldn’t tell her the truth: that I didn’t like the idea of Vittorio staring at her tits. So I went back to my room and put on an old black jacket and changed my tennis shoes to penny loafers, as an added touch to please her.
The jacket is wrapped around my waist now, the sleeves knocking against my thighs as we make our way to the top of the hill. I start walking slower, hoping that maybe I can talk her out of Vittorio’s party, hoping that she’ll change her mind and walk back to campus with me. The only reason I’m doing this is because I know it means a lot to her (though I cannot understand why) and that this is Vittorio’s last get-together before he leaves for Italy on Sunday, before he’s replaced by some drunk who was fired from the Lit staff at Harvard (I found this out from Norris who knows all the teacher gossip). I step in front of the gate that leads up to the door of Vittorio’s house. She keeps walking, then stops, sighs, doesn’t turn around.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask.
“We already talked about this,” she says.
“I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“We’re here. We’re going in. I’m going in.”
I follow her to the door. “If he makes one move towards you I’ll beat the shit out of him.” I unwrap the jacket from my waist and put it on.
“You’ll what?” she asks, ringing the bell.
“I don’t know.” I smooth the jacket out. I brought coke in case I can’t deal with it, but I haven’t told her this. I wonder if any girls will be here.
“You’re jealous of my poetry teacher,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe he practically rapes you at these goddamned things,” I whisper loudly at her. “And you love it,” I add.
“My God, Sean, he’s almost seventy,” she says. “Besides you’ve never been to one of these things so how in the hell would you know?”
“So what? I don’t care how old he is, he still does it. You’ve told me.” I can hear footsteps, Vittorio’s, shuffling toward the door.
“He’s taught me a lot and I owe it to him to come.” She looks at my watch, lifting then dropping my wrist. “We’re late. Anyway he’s leaving and you won’t have to put up with this anymore.”
This is the end of the relationship. I knew it was coming to an end. She was starting to bore me already. And maybe this party is a good excuse to end it, to lay blame somewhere. I don’t care. Rock’n’roll. I look at her one last time, in the seconds before the door opens, and desperately try to remember why we even got together in the first place.
The door opens and Vittorio, wearing baggy cords and an old L.L. Bean sweater, his thin gray hair longish, un-brushed, raises his arms up in greeting and says, “Lauren, Lauren … oh what a lovely, lovely surprise….” His soft voice now high and emotional. This is Vittorio? The guy who makes the passes at Lauren? I’m thinking. He hugs her as she walks in and she looks over at me and rolls her eyes up over Vittorio’s aged, stooped shoulder. I register it but it doesn’t make a difference. Why doesn’t she just f**k him? I’m thinking.
“… lovely, lovely surprise….”
“I thought we were invited,” I say, annoyed.
“Oh you were, you were,” Vittorio says, looking at Lauren as if she had spoken. “But it’s such a lovely … lovely surprise….”