Burning the Map (15 page)

I told him that I knew what he meant, but that I could get that way without the pot. Actually, I was talking out of my ass. Those times, those “sense of place” times, had been episodic at best. Yet during this trip, I'd begun to feel a few of those moments. Visiting Italy, a country I felt at home in, and the time I spent with Francesco had helped bring me out of the shell Lindsey referred to. But then my friendship with her and Kat had stalled and sputtered, and my parents'
divorce announcement had scared whatever moments of clarity I'd begun to muster back into the humid air.

So, instead of a grand entrance, I turn the doorknob quietly and push it open, until I stand facing the two people who used to know me best.

T
heir conversation halts. Sin is in midtap, still dressed in a black miniskirt and tight lavender shirt. Kat sits on her cot in men's boxers and a tank top, her back leaning against the wall, her knees drawn up. Sin glares. Kat just looks startled to see me.

Sin opens her mouth, but I hold my hand up, and I start talking before she can get a word in.

“I know you're upset about Billy, and I understand why, but what you saw on that deck was just a little kiss. It was the only one we had, and I didn't mean for it to happen.”

“Ha!” Lindsey barks out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“Seriously. We'd just been talking and talking, and…it happened.”

“Oh, this is too much.” She throws her hands up and turns toward the wall.

I try to stay calm despite her sanctimonious bit of acting, but her attitude is pissing me off.

“I know it sounds lame,” I say, keeping my voice even, “but it's true. I even told Billy that you were looking for him.”

“And?”

I look down and scratch absently at my forehead. “And he said he wasn't interested.”

Lindsey spins around, her eyes narrowed. “Don't even try to play this off like you were out there fighting for my best interests. You're damn right it sounds lame. And don't try to tell me that that kiss I saw was all that happened. What have you been doing for the last hour?”

“Oh, quit your holier than thou attitude. If you would have let me explain instead of stomping off, we could have handled this at the time.”

“So it's my fault that you've been rolling around on the beach with him?”

How does she know we've been on the beach? Did they follow us? Kat points silently to the back of my shorts. I brush off the sand with a distracted hand.

“That's not what I'm saying. We weren't rolling around, for one thing.” I hold myself back from telling her that I
could
have been rolling around. I certainly
wanted
to roll around. “What I'm trying to tell you, Sin, is that you never listen to me anymore.”

“I don't listen?” She sounds surprised. “You don't talk anymore, Casey.”

“And so I'm not myself anymore, right? I'm just a shell of my former self.” I mimic her high voice.

For a second, she looks remorseful, then resigned. “I'm sorry you heard that, but it's true.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, dropping my sandals on the floor. Their wood heels land with a thud.

“Fuck you?” Lindsey says. “What is going on with you? You've got a boyfriend at home, but you pick up that Italian dude and forget about us. Then you keep avoiding us this
whole week. Kat and I came out on the deck to find you tonight because we were worried about you, and we find you with
another
guy, a guy you know I like, and now you come here accusing me of not listening to you?”

“I'm sorry about Billy. I really am,” I say, my voice measured, as if I can turn down the volume on this whole argument. I slump onto the bed opposite Kat. “It really did just happen. I didn't intend it. You're right in the sense that it's not the type of thing I would normally let happen, because we're friends, and I know you had a thing for him, but to be honest, this hasn't felt like much of a friendship for a while.”

“No kidding,” she says with a sneer.

Sin and I go on and on like this. Kat stays on the bed with her back against the wall, biting a thumbnail, watching the whole thing like some kid whose parents are arguing.

Finally, I can't come up with any other explanations, not that Sin would hear them or discuss them, anyway. There's a lull that feels truly scary. “Tell me something, Sin,” I say. “Why are you such a bitch lately?”

It's out of my mouth before I realize it was just a thought in my head, not something meant for public consumption. I lean back a little, ready for another tongue thrashing.

But then Lindsey does something I've rarely seen her do. She leans on the dresser and starts to cry.

My eyes dart to Kat. Her hand falls away from her mouth, and she looks at me with pleading eyes, as if to say, “Do something.”

“Sin,” I say, getting up and approaching her as I would a wounded but still dangerous animal.

She raises her head before I reach her. I freeze, and I can feel Kat doing the same thing.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Sin says, her eyes red and raw already, the tears still streaming, “that I might be jealous?”

“Of what?”

She snorts in exasperation, which stems the tears for the time being. “You, you idiot.”

I shoot a look at Kat. Her wide eyes tell me it's the first time she's heard this.

“Why?” I can't think of any other words to say. This doesn't even make sense.

“You've got everything,” Sin says.

I look down at myself as if expecting to find that some other person has inhabited my body. Why would she be jealous of me?

“Like what?” I say.

“Like you were on law review, and you just graduated from one of the top schools in the country, and you've got this great new job.” She leans over the dresser again.

“But, honey,” Kat says, finally speaking up. “You're at one of the best ad agencies in the nation, and you're about to make vice president.”

Sin mumbles something we can't hear.

“What's that?” Kat says.

Sin lifts her head up. “I already got it,” she says in a too-loud voice.

“You got it? You're a VP?” I clap my hands, forgetting for a moment that I hate her.

Sin nods, her face miserable, crumpling into tears again.

“Congratulations!” I say.

“That's wonderful! Why didn't you tell us?” Kat jumps off the bed and crosses the room to hug Sin. I want to do the same, but I'm still afraid she might strike me. Just as well, because she shoos Kat away.

“What is it?” Kat asks. “Why aren't you happy about this?”

“Because nothing's changed!”

I'm stumped. “They didn't give you a new office?” I say, taking a stab.

Sin exhales loudly, as if she's been trying to explain logarithms to first-graders. “Nothing's different. I thought things
would change when I made VP. I thought my life would be better, more magical or…or I don't know. I can't explain it.”

But I know what she means now. “I thought the same thing when I got the job at Billings Sherman & Lott,” I say. “I thought I was really on my way, that I would have a career, and my whole world would start sparkling, but I've been working there part-time, and I've got to tell you, nothing's sparkling yet.”

“Really?” Sin says with a sniffle.

I nod.

“That sucks.” Kat sinks back on her bed.

I keep nodding.

“But you have John,” Sin says.

Now I'm stumped again. “You don't even like John,” I point out.

“Oh, he's fine. It's not him.”

I see Kat and Sin exchanging a look.

“What is it then?”

“He's sweet,” says Kat in a noncommittal voice, “and I'm sure he loves you a lot….”

“But,” I say, giving her a lead.

“But…” Kat starts biting a thumbnail again. She looks at Lindsey for assistance.

“You just don't shine when you're with him,” Sin says.

I blink a few times, attempting to process this. It seems like they might be on to something, but I can't help feeling defensive on John's behalf. I can bitch and moan about him and fool around with other guys, but that doesn't mean anyone else can malign him, even if it is disguised as an insult to me.

“She's right,” Kat says. “He is very sweet, but he's not as fun as you are, and I think he's rubbing off on you.”

Sin nods.

Was that what it was? Had I begun to assume John's personality into mine, diluting it?

“Wait,” I say to Sin. “If this is all true, then why would you be jealous of me and John?”

“Because you have someone who loves you, someone who cares if you come home at night.” Her eyes start to well up again. “Then to top it off we go to Rome, and you find
someone else
who seems to really like you, and then Billy…”

“Ah,” I say, understanding now how my life has looked through Sin's eyes. Funny how it's a load of uncontrollable crap to me, but to someone else it seems like a dream. “It's not so great for me, you know. This trip was supposed to be an escape from all the other shit I have to deal with when I get home.”

“What other shit?” Lindsey says, cutting me off, exasperated with me again. “You're going to be coming back from a long vacation. You're done with school and the bar. You don't have anything to worry about.”

“That's just it,” I say, hearing the climbing shrill tone in my voice. “I'm done with school, I don't know if I passed the bar and I'm terrified of working for a living. To be honest, I don't know how to be a lawyer! Law school teaches you nothing practical. And then things aren't right with you guys, which I can't handle. To top it all off—my parents are getting divorced.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, they're having problems, Casey. Don't be so melodramatic,” Sin says.

I honestly think about giving her an Erica Kane style slap across the face and asking her how she likes that for melodrama, but I just sit back on the bed and clench my hands. “When I called my mom today, she told me my dad's gone. He moved out. It's over. And there's more….” I start to sniffle. “Bailey died.”

It's my turn to cry now, and I can hear Lindsey and Kat murmuring, moving toward me, hugging me awkwardly from both sides. Finally, I think, finally.

“I'm so sorry,” I can hear Kat say. “I'm so sorry, Case. Why didn't you tell us sooner?”

“I didn't feel like you cared.”

“What do you think it's been like for us?” Lindsey abruptly pulls her arms away from me. “You haven't seemed like you gave a damn about anything for a long time.”

“I know,” I say. “I know you're thinking the same about me, but we have to somehow rise above this.”

“You have to open your mouth first to give us the opportunity to ‘rise above it.'” Lindsey makes quotation signs with her hands as she pantomimes my words. I hate when people do that.

“I tried to talk to both of you tonight, but you weren't exactly receptive.”

Kat holds me away from her slightly and gives me the raised eyebrow.

“It's true,” I say. “I tried being with you tonight, but you were too busy entertaining the crowd. And within two minutes of finding you—” I point at Lindsey “—you were in a heated political debate with that British chump.”

“He wasn't a chump, and that doesn't mean I wouldn't have dropped everything if you'd said that you needed to talk.”

“Could've fooled me,” I mumble.

Lindsey snorts and stomps over to her backpack on the floor. She takes off her shirt, rummaging in her pack for something to sleep in.

A moment of uncomfortable quiet passes before Kat asks, “So what do we do about this, you guys?”

I slump back onto my bed. What
can
we do? I'm so exhausted, I can barely speak. “Can we sleep on it?”

“Fine,” Lindsey says, standing up from her backpack. “Fine,” she says again, before walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

I pull the sheet over myself and shut my eyes, not even bothering to take off my clothes.

“Night, Case,” Kat says a few minutes later, turning off the lights. When I don't answer, she says, “It's going to be all right, you know.”

I nod in the dark, although I doubt it.

D
espite my fatigue, I sleep fitfully that night, shifting my legs every few minutes in search of cool spots on the sheets. I want desperately for everything to return to normal with Kat and Sin, but I'm tired of pretending things are all right when they aren't. I see now that I've done this too many times, in too many different situations. I've put on a happy face and acted as if all were fine and dandy, ignoring the fact that things were about as dandy as a root canal.

Take John, for instance. If I was honest with myself, I'd have to admit that the things about him that were beginning to gnaw at me, I knew all along. When I started dating him, we had healthy getting-to-know-you discussions, but in general, I saw that he wasn't much of a talker, that he wasn't going to spend long, candlelit nights with me chatting over a bottle of Beaujolais. Yet I had wanted a boyfriend so badly. I wanted a date for New Year's Eve and someone to watch movies with on Sunday afternoons. I wanted to be able to use the term “my boyfriend” in conversation.
My boyfriend
and I saw a fabulous play this weekend.
My boyfriend
sent me these flowers.
I have to meet
my boyfriend
for drinks. So I turned his quieter, more reticent personality into what I thought was a positive. I recall explaining to Kat in a bright voice, “It's great. He's not a big people person, but he doesn't care if I am, so I can make the rounds at a party, and he's okay to be left by himself.” I remember her barely nodding, looking at me as if I'd just said that the war in Bosnia had been a good thing.

There were other things that bothered me about John, too, like his anal housekeeping, his insistence that all shampoo flip tops be securely closed after use to avoid accidental leakage, and his requirement that the toilet paper rolls be placed so that the paper pulls down, not up. I'd seen these things from the start, but I'd either ignored them or put an optimistic spin on them. “Isn't that adorable?” I gushed facetiously when my mother overheard him admonish me to put the mustard in the door of the fridge,
not
on the second shelf. My mother made a face as if to say, “To each his own.” All these things had come back to haunt me and were taking on the quality of nails on a blackboard.

I don't want to let the same thing happen with Lindsey and Kat. There's something lacking in our friendship, some element of understanding and ability to be on the same page that we've always carried with us. The distance I've created since dating John could partly, but not completely, be to blame. That's why I can't gloss over it anymore and say, “You're right. Everything is fine. Let's go back to the way we used to be,” as I had in Rome. Kat and Sin are too important to me.

I'm finally able to steal a few hours of sleep, but I'm awakened at ten in the morning by Sin, already dressed in khaki shorts and a white baby-doll T-shirt.

“Case,” she says, nudging me roughly in the hip. “Wake up. I want to ask you something.”

“What?” I say, rubbing my eyes, trying to free myself from the twisted sheets. “What is it?”

Sin is all-business this morning, standing with her hands on her hips. “I went to town and found out that we can take a boat to Mykonos at two o'clock today and get there by early evening. What do you think?”

“Leave Ios?” I ask, somewhat startled, thinking that I'm not quite ready to move on.

This has been happening to me for the last few years. I'll panic at any small change in my daily routine, taking comfort in always knowing what's around the corner, the ease of simplicity and repetition. Like here at the Sunset, for example. Although relations have been strained with Sin and Kat, I have my routine. I know what time the family serves meals. I know how to get an Amstel from the fridge and how many drachmas to leave on the counter. I know how to stumble my way home from the bars. What I don't know is whether I'm ready to give up the safety of that routine.

“You still have time to see Billy Boy if you want,” Sin says.

“It's not that. I'm just trying to think. What does Kat want to do?” I look around the room for her.

“She's getting breakfast. She wants to go.”

When I hesitate, Lindsey looks pissed off. “Look, in light of everything that's happened and our talk last night, I think we need to get out of here. Just the three of us.”

I nod, trying to think this through.

“We have to make a decision,” Lindsey says. “I need to get back to town and buy the tickets.” She drops her head a little. “Casey, maybe this will help.”

I feel a surge of hope. “Let's do it,” I say. “Yeah…let's go.”

“Great,” she says, and she gives me a clumsy pat on the leg before she leaves.

 

After a shower, I go looking for Billy. I don't want to leave without at least saying goodbye. No one answers when I knock on the thin wood door of his hut. As I start to turn
away, I hear a voice call from inside. I look back in time to see Billy stick his head out the door. His black curls are dripping wet and the only clothing he has on is a tired purple-and-yellow beach towel, slung low over his hips, a happy trail of dark hair leading from his lower abdomen to the towel.

“Hey!” he says, looking happy to see me, and I feel a ridiculous pride that I can cause such a reaction in him.

“Good morning.” I give him a slow once-over, the pride, along with the knowledge that we're leaving, making me bold.

He smiles, somewhere between bashful and seductive. He glances down at the towel, but makes no effort to hike it up. “Want to come in?” he asks, raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

I laugh. “I thought we'd have breakfast.”

“Well, I thought I'd have you for breakfast.”

Normally, this remark would send my eyes rolling, but Billy is sporting such a mischievous grin, I want to follow the happy trail and rip the towel from his hips. He reaches out and takes my forearm, his touch giving me another
ping
.

“So what about it?” Billy says, gesturing with his head toward the room, his fingers a soft presence on my skin.

“Where are Noel and Johnny?” I ask, stalling for time.

“Already at the beach. C'mon,” he says, pulling me into his chest, which is still slightly wet and smells of soap. I want to rub my face against him.

“C'mon,” Billy says again, holding me closer to him, leaning in to nuzzle my neck.

“I shouldn't,” I say feebly, but like some swooning heroine in a hoopskirt I let him pull me inside.

 

Billy's hut looks about the same as our room, although his is littered with Amstel bottles and dirty clothes. We'd at least made some effort to keep ours presentable. His room makes me think of the one-too-many fraternity houses I'd spent
nights in, fighting off lecherous advances. When I think back to how many close calls and scary situations I allowed myself to get drawn into, I feel like making the sign of the cross—a skill that has decidedly atrophied over the years—in thanks that I'd survived those situations relatively unscathed.

“I'm sorry about the mess,” Billy says, seeing my expression. He begins dumping bottles in the trash, collecting errant garments hanging from doorknobs and the mirror. “I wasn't expecting company.”

Billy isn't at all like the frat boys whose clutches I'd broken away from, but the reminder has brought me back to earth. I still have a boyfriend at home, a fact I've conveniently ignored for a while, and I still want to make things better with Kat and Sin. Bopping Billy in this hut is certainly not going to help either situation.

“Listen,” I say, watching him scoop tubes of suntan lotion off a bed and into the garbage. “I really think I need to get some food to calm my stomach. Too much booze last night, you know? How about meeting me on the terrace when you're ready?”

“Wait a bit,” Billy says, stopping his frenetic cleaning. “What's the matter, eh?”

“I just can't do this.”

I start to try to explain, but Billy jumps in, “We're not doing anything, Casey. It's all right.”

He moves closer to me, his towel swinging with the movement, and for a moment I both fear and hope that it's about to fall off. But at the same time, the room feels tiny and cramped.

“Just meet me for breakfast, okay?” I lean in and touch my lips to his cheek, a sort of a peace offering.

“Sure,” Billy says, although he doesn't sound thrilled. “Be right there.”

 

When I get to the terrace, I'm relieved to find Kat gone already. I don't want her to see me with Billy.

I walk to the bar, which is being manned by Spiros's daughter, Samantha.

“Hello, Casey!” she chirps, her bright eyes gleaming. Pencil in hand, she's ready to take my order. Ever since our journey to the hospital, she seems to favor me over the other guests, unfailingly cheerful and cute. “What you want for breakfast?”

I smile at her accent and her eagerness, wondering if I'd ever been that hopeful and motivated.

“Hmm…” I study the breakfast menu written on a blackboard above Samantha's head.

I know the menu by heart already, but I'm giving myself time to launch a full-scale food debate in my head—egg whites versus cheese, sliced tomato versus toast. My mouth waters at the thought of real scrambled eggs with feta cheese and thick slices of freshly toasted Greek bread laden with butter, but I'm liking my body better after having shed some poundage. Then I realize that the real reason I'm trying to stay away from the eggs and toast is the knowledge that Billy is on his way to meet me, and I don't want to eat like a pig in front of him. I give myself a mental smack for this idiotic line of thinking, as if Billy would actually think I was thinner if he didn't see me eat. Ridiculous! Hadn't I denied certain parts of myself for years because of John? No more tennis, no more late nights with the girls, no more live music.

“Scrambled eggs with feta and toast,” I say to Samantha, “and extra butter.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Billy walking toward me. I turn and see he's wearing a huge smile and, unfortunately, clothing now. He has on wrinkled green shorts and a white ribbed T-shirt with three buttons undone, giving a glimpse of a tanned chest.

“Hey,” he says to me as he bends down to give me a kiss. I'm not sure if he's shooting for my mouth or my cheek, so I wiggle around a bit, and it lands awkwardly on the right side of my nose.

Billy doesn't seem to notice. “Can I buy you breakfast?”

“Sure, big spender,” I say. Breakfast is included in the room rate. “But I already ordered.”

“I'll do the same. Be right back.” Billy squeezes my shoulder and gives me another smile before striding off to the counter.

My feta eggs are delicious. I shovel them on my toast and wash them down with a big, cold bottle of Evian, not letting myself care what kind of image I'm presenting to Billy. His food arrives shortly after mine, and he eats with similar gusto. We must look like a couple of starved refugees.

I steal glances at him, wondering if I will ever see him, or for that matter, Francesco, again. Francesco had given me his address and phone number, and I assume Billy and I will exchange digits. My knee-jerk inclination is to try and keep in touch with both of them, but my sane mind tells me this would be a bad move for two reasons. The first, of course, is John. It had been betrayal enough without bringing it home with me. The second reason is my belief that vacation romances should be left on vacation. In the bright light of real life, it's impossible to escape the annoyances and incompatibilities that are glossed over when basking in the golden hue of a sunset or hiding in the dark of a hotel room.

I'd learned this lesson all too well when I met a nice boy from New Jersey while spending a weekend in Key West. We
strolled the boardwalk and had a picnic in the sand. It was romantic and dreamy, but when he visited me a few months later, everything irritated me. I found his “Joy-Zee” accent gauche. He wore immense amounts of cheap cologne that lingered on my sheets. He spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror parting and reparting his hair from side to side. And his clothes! I'd essentially seen him in bathing suits and T-shirts in Key West, but in Chicago, when I told him we were having dinner with some friends, he exited the bathroom in tightly pressed acid-washed jeans, black high-top Reeboks and a teal silk shirt. I claimed mysterious female difficulties to avoid introducing him to my friends or partaking in any physical contact that evening. I was relieved to drop him off at the airport the next day.

“So,” Billy says when we're finished eating. “Everything all right with your friends, then?”

“Yes and no,” I say. “Lindsey was pissed off and still is, but we talked about some things.” I shrug, not wanting to rehash it or go into specifics.

“Then we'll spend a bit of time together today, yeah?”

I look at my watch and realize we have to leave in about an hour for the boat, and I still have to pack.