Diva (16 page)

His words cut her like ice. He clearly did not want to see her.

And yet she pushed her way inside.

“Hey! What are you doing!” Marcus followed, rushing ahead and then turning on his heels to stop her—but they were already in the middle of the room.

It was huge, which made sense, considering Marcus’s parents had built nearly half the school. The far wall had two expansive windows with checkered curtains. The room was surprisingly bare of personal touches, though there was a framed photo of “Anastasia” on Marcus’s desk.

Clara’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the movie poster hanging on Marcus’s wall. Buster Keaton stood in a straw boater and a long coat, his wide-eyed face as stoic and deadpan as ever. It was a poster for
Our Hospitality
: the movie he’d taken Clara to see on their first date in Chicago. Marcus was a Buster Keaton fan, sure, but why did he choose a poster for
that
particular film?

Marcus took a few deep breaths, attempting to cool down. “You have to leave, Clara. I’m not kidding. Girls aren’t allowed in the dorms, particularly not drunk ones.”

“I’m not drunk!”

He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “No? Well, it’s almost six o’clock. You’d better get a move on if you want to be half as zozzled as the other flappers at whatever speakeasy or party you’re going to later.”

“Look, I know I’m the last person you want to see right now. And I’ll go. But first there’s something I need to tell
you.” Clara crossed to Marcus’s desk and picked up the picture of his fiancée. “Marcus, this woman is not who she says she is.”

Marcus laughed incredulously. “That’s it?
That’s
what you’re here to say? No ‘Hi, Marcus, I haven’t seen you in a month and a half. How’s life been treating you?’ No ‘You’ve started college since the last time I saw you. What’s that like?’ You skip right over all that and start taking shots at my fiancée?”

His hands started shaking again. “Back in Chicago I liked you because you were different. You were smart, and funny, and you never felt the need to stoop to the level of the Lorraine Dyers of the world. But now you seem just like her.”

Clara focused all her energy on not allowing tears to spring to her eyes. “No, Marcus, if you’d just listen—”

“Is this what you’ve stooped to now?” Marcus grabbed the photo from Clara and returned it to his desk. “It wasn’t enough for you to lie to me and break my heart, but you’re now going to try and ruin the rest of my life?”

Clara could hear the anger giving way to hurt in his voice. She wanted nothing more than to admit how wrong she’d been to lie to him, to let him go so easily. She wanted to close the gap between them and feel his arms around her again.

Clara took a few steps forward. In response, Marcus’s sky-blue eyes widened—was it from fear of her getting too close,
or maybe in anticipation? Clara blinked. It was definitely fear. Her being here was making Marcus incredibly upset.

She stopped walking when she was close enough to brush Marcus’s hair out of his eyes. His hair always dried messy and unruly before he had the chance to tame it with pomade—another thing Clara had always loved about him.

“Marcus, I—” Clara began, ready to confess how much she missed him and how she’d do anything to have him back in her life.

She’d never given Marcus enough credit when it came to understanding all she’d been through in her old New York life, how hard it had been for her to pretend that the glitter and revelry of the flapper world didn’t still call to her. Instead, she told lie after lie, then got angry at
Marcus
for being less than understanding about her new career as a journalist.

Marcus hadn’t even told her to stop writing—he’d just encouraged her to go to school and take her writing more seriously. But Clara had decided that Marcus didn’t support her career. If she tried to focus on Marcus’s shortcomings, she could ignore how selfish she’d truly been at the end of their relationship.

But he’d been right. Parker and the
Manhattanite
team didn’t take her seriously. Maybe if she apologized,
really
apologized …

The words were right there on the tip of Clara’s tongue. But if she said any of them, how would he ever believe her about this Deirdre woman? He’d think she was only spinning lies
in order to win him back. Marcus would probably go running back to his Anastasia as fast as his legs could carry him.

And protecting him from making the mistake of a lifetime was more important than confessing her feelings.

So Clara moved away from him, sank into the wooden chair in front of his desk, and avoided his gaze. “Marcus, I’m not trying to ruin your life—this has nothing to do with you and me. I mean, there isn’t even a ‘you and me’ anymore. That’s over and we’re both over it, right? I’m here out of friendship. I just don’t like to see a friend get fleeced.”

It pained her to say the words, because they weren’t true. She wasn’t over it. But if this was the only way to protect Marcus, then she’d have to bite the bullet.

Marcus was silent. He stood still, one hand resting on the black telephone on his night table. Had he called someone while her back was turned? Clara hadn’t heard him say anything. His eyes narrowed, and Clara could tell right away that she’d said precisely the wrong thing.

“Friendship?”
He scoffed. “You and I were never
friends
, Clara, and we sure as hell aren’t now. I loved you,” he said in a quieter voice. “I wanted to be with you, and all you wanted to do was party and lie to me.”

Clara swallowed hard. “I didn’t
want
to, it was for a job.”

“A job you never told me about! For no good reason! Unless you didn’t want me to know about the job because you didn’t want me to know about your
editor
.”

“Nothing was going on between me and Parker then, and
nothing is going on now.” At least she could say that honestly. Semihonestly, anyway.

“I don’t believe anything you say anymore. You lied to me at first, back in Chicago, but I understood that. You were ashamed of your past. When we got here, though, I realized that wasn’t it—it was just
you
. You got so caught up in manipulation and double talk as a flapper that now you don’t know how to be honest with anyone.”

It was what Clara had always feared most. She’d watched enough girls lie their way into speakeasies, into relationships, into money, until they lied even when they didn’t need to. And now here was Marcus, the boy who’d convinced her she was different from all those girls, telling her she was just like them.

“How was I supposed to keep loving you if I couldn’t believe a word out of your mouth? Only a complete idiot would,” he said grimly. “Do you really not understand what you did wrong?”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
, Clara said to herself over and over. It had kind of become a personal mantra these past few weeks.

Marcus held her eyes for a few moments, waiting for the apology Clara couldn’t give him. If she told him how sorry she was, it would tumble into a confession of love that she wouldn’t be able to take back.

Eventually Marcus exhaled heavily and looked away. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’ve found someone who wants
to be with me, and I’m not going to let you screw it up. Do yourself a favor and leave. Now.”

“But I—” Clara began, when a sharp knock on the door interrupted her.

“Oh, too late,” Marcus said. He flung open the door to reveal two men in black uniforms with silver badges pinned to their chests.

Clara turned to glare at Marcus. He’d called security on her? Really?

“This drunk woman burst into my room. I’ve never seen her before in my life.” He looked at Clara with a hint of a smile. It was both sad and cruel at the same time. “Please take her away.”

LORRAINE

And Becky had said Lorraine’s opera glasses would never come in handy.

It was early evening and the streetlamps that dotted Columbia’s campus had just flickered on. The campus was fairly deserted this time of day—just a few students strolled down the cobbled path to the domed library on Lorraine’s left. Wind brushed through the trees and made Lorraine wish she’d brought a sweater or jacket. Why couldn’t summer do everyone a favor and last all year long?

From her bench on the lawn, Lorraine could nearly see through Marcus’s window into his dorm room. She couldn’t make out who Marcus was talking to, only that it was a girl who was
not
his fiancée. Lorraine pressed the glasses closer to
her face and leaned forward. “What
are
you up to, Marcus?” she whispered.

Lorraine had been following Marcus since she’d returned from Long Island two days earlier. Before, she’d only hung around outside Marcus’s classes when she had a spare moment—but now tailing him had become her full-time job.

She’d been studying how much time Marcus spent with Anastasia/Deirdre, and what times of day she’d be most likely to catch the lying harlot alone. Soon Lorraine would tell Anastasia that she knew about her dirty past and that she’d better come clean to Marcus. Or else Lorraine would … 
do something
. She hadn’t really worked that part out yet.

Melvin had pointed out that Lorraine’s “research” was remarkably similar to what she had been doing before she’d even known Marcus was engaged. But while that might have seemed to be the case to an oil can like Melvin, her motivations had changed. Lorraine wasn’t just a girl with a crush now: She was a woman on a rescue mission.

She shivered and set her glasses on the bench so she could rub her hands over her goose-pimpled arms. A sleeveless dress, while fashionable, was not the best attire for spying. Lorraine raised the opera glasses back up to her eyes and saw two security guards in black uniforms in Marcus’s doorway. Where had they come from?

The guards left nearly as soon as they’d arrived, the woman Marcus had been talking to with them. Seriously, what was
going on up there? Lorraine slipped her opera glasses into her purse, rose from the bench, and took a few hesitant steps across the lawn toward Hartley Hall.

As her heels crunched over the fallen leaves, Lorraine speculated as to who the woman might be. Was Marcus having some kind of affair with a lady criminal?

When Lorraine was halfway across the lawn, the security guards emerged from the dorm with the woman between them. Lorraine stepped closer, squinted, and gasped.

Clara Knowles? What had
she
been doing in Marcus’s room?

Back at Forrest Hamilton’s party, Clara hadn’t wanted anything to do with Marcus. But clearly something had changed.

And now Clara was in trouble.

The security guards began to lead her across the South Lawn, and without another thought, Lorraine raced toward them. Ugh, her brocade T-strap heels were gorgeous, but they were horrid for running. She felt tempted to chuck them off—this damp grass had probably already ruined them anyway.

She nearly ran into a fellow lugging a huge stack of textbooks when she stopped short near Clara and the security guards. “W-watch where you’re going, y-y-you lousy dew-dropper!” Lorraine yelled at the boy, out of breath. She needed to stop skipping her physical education class so often, even if it
was
at eight in the morning.

The boy caught his teetering books before any fell, scowled at her, and stalked off. How rude!

“Not another one,” the overweight, middle-aged security guard complained. “What are
you
doing wandering around the campus after dark?” He, the other guard, and Clara all stared at her.

Lorraine froze. “I … Opera!” She fumbled around in her purse and withdrew her glasses. They’d been so useful this evening! “I’m coming from the opera, see?”

The guard frowned at Lorraine. “Fine. Now, girlie, get back to your own campus and out of our way.”

“Do you want me to walk her back?” the other guard asked with a hopeful glint in his muddy-brown eyes. He had floppy brown hair and was barely older than Lorraine and Clara.

“No, let’s just keep moving,” the first one replied.

The two men started to walk around Lorraine, but she caught the younger one’s shoulder. “No, wait, she’s my friend!” She rushed forward so she was standing in front of Clara and smiled wide at her. “Where did you get off to, Clarabelle?” She flung her arms around Clara without waiting for an answer. It was a pretty awkward embrace since the guards were still holding both of Clara’s arms. Not that Clara would’ve hugged her back anyway. “I was so worried!”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Clara asked through gritted teeth.

“Rescuing you,” Lorraine whispered back. “Just shut your trap!”

“Step aside, ma’am,” the older security guard ordered, and continued walking.

Lorraine fell into step beside the younger guard, which caused the older one to harrumph and go faster. Lorraine practically ran to keep up with them, and the younger guard smiled at her.

“What’s your problem with Clara? We’re dear friends. I can vouch for her completely. I go to school at Barnard, that college just across the street—”