The Rise & Fall of Great Powers (41 page)

Chin in hand, he nodded in fascination. “Please, continue.”

She found herself feigning expertise, trying to field his queries, Humphrey addressing her as if she were the absolute authority on matters avian.

“You open up whole new world for me,” he proclaimed, leading her to the backyard, where he stood, hands in the pockets of his shorts, gazing in wonderment at the sky. “Up there is such life going on! I never think of this before.”

A distant jet appeared, gliding slowly across the blue. Passengers were looking out through the portholes, down at this city, at the roof of this house, unaware of these two staring back. The people up there
were thinking of destinations, of faces awaiting them at the airport, of faces they’d just left, just as she had on so many flights, before turning from her window to Paul, his face in a bird book.

Instead of a bird, a raindrop landed, then more, plump ones splatting against her face. Humphrey went back inside, calling her to follow. She resisted, tongue out to catch drops. When she joined him, her hair dripped a trail through the house. Humphrey had a towel ready for her. “What is your address?” he asked.

“My old one? It was Gupta Mansions in Sukhumvit.”

He took her hand, fetched her book bag from the tent, walked her to the front door. “Come,” he said. “Time to go.”

2000

E
MERSON OPENED
the living-room window to shout at Tooly, who sat on the fire escape. “Put that cigarette out when I’m talking to you,” he said. “The smoke is blowing inside, you dick.”

“You’re the one who opened the window.”

“Excuse me, do you pay rent here? Put that out and get inside.”

She was not in the habit of obeying Emerson, so finished at her leisure, and even contemplated climbing down the fire escape to the sidewalk, going back into the building, and entering the apartment by the front door, just to defy his command. But it was freezing, so she climbed in.

Presumably, his complaint pertained to a recycling infraction. Or did he have a suspect in the plunder of his peach Snapple? She stood before him, struggling to take seriously the remonstrations of a shirtless man in flip-flops. Until she grasped the subject.

“Wait, wait, wait. What?” she said, to delay matters. “What are you even talking about?”

But she knew. This had come from Noeline.

“You never grew up in this apartment at all,” he said. “You’re trying to rip off Duncan. He’s been talking about getting his parents to invest in your little scam. You’re a fraud, and I’m telling him. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”

“This is crazy. Can I talk to Noeline, please?”

“So you admit it!”

“I didn’t admit anything. I’d just like to speak with her.”

“Are you telling Duncan,” he demanded, “or am I?”

Tooly had assumed that indiscretions on both sides during that lunch had canceled each other out. If anything, it was Noeline who’d made the most damning statements.

“Can you ask her to come in here, please?” Tooly said. “I’d like to talk to her alone.”

He marched off. After a minute, Noeline entered the kitchen, avoiding Tooly’s gaze.

“Your boyfriend just threatened to call the cops on me.”

“You lied to Duncan, to Xavi, to me. You’ve been living here for weeks without paying, eating their food. You falsely represented yourself.”

“Are you serious? What if I told him a few of
your
comments? How you wrote half his thesis?”

“I find it sick that you’re trying to harm my relationship with Emerson. I actually love him, an emotion you don’t have, according to what you told me. If you’re suggesting—if you’re even considering claiming—that I helped him inappropriately, I will
aggressively
deny that. If I said anything that was exaggerated—and I don’t recall doing so—it’s because my relationship was in a difficult position, and I was upset. If you want to take advantage of that, then you’re way more sick than I thought.”

“I’m not telling anyone what you said, Noeline. I’m not a snitch. I’m just saying that I thought we were—”

“A snitch? What is this, jailhouse lingo? The stuff you told me wasn’t blurted out in a state of distress. You were totally calm—just another day for you. You don’t have an ounce of feeling for any of us. Willing to mess with Duncan’s family for some scam you’ve got going with this older boyfriend of yours.”

Tooly shook her head. These accusations were an offense to her self-perception, and she retaliated with an offense of her own: “Just—go screw yourself, okay?”

“Duncan is an ‘opportunity’ for you, right? This hobby of slithering into people’s homes for ‘opportunities’? It’s parasitic, okay? We’re telling Duncan if you don’t.”

“What I said isn’t what you’re making it out to be. I really, really like Duncan. I’m friends with Xavi and, I thought, friends with you. I don’t know Emerson that well, but if you think he’s great now, maybe there’s more to him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, that I ‘think he’s great
now
’? See, this is why you need to leave.”

“I was never going to tell anyone what you said.”

“What, exactly, did I supposedly say?”

“You remember what. But who cares?”

“Just leave. You know? Just say goodbye to Duncan, if you have to, then leave. You’re here to mess with people. For some of us, this is our actual life.”

Emerson appeared again. “Is she telling Duncan, or do I get to?”

“Since when are you concerned with Duncan’s welfare?”

“Hey,” he shot back, “I don’t appreciate some high-school dropout like you questioning my intelligence behind my back.”

Tooly looked at Noeline, who looked away.

“This is a moral issue,” he continued. “Possibly even criminal.”

“What are you talking about? What crime?”

“Entry by false trespassing,” he improvised, making his way out. “I’ll be raising this with Duncan in the next twenty-four hours unless you do. You’d better start thinking up excuses.”

Tooly looked at Noeline, and her anger drained away. “You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve met in this city. One of the most interesting in years. I don’t know what I did to make you mad. And I’m not trying to change your opinion. I’m just—I don’t know—just so sorry this is happening.”

Blushing, Noeline rushed into the bathroom, slammed the door after herself, and turned on the faucet, which ran for several minutes.

Tooly looked down the corridor toward the bedroom where Duncan was studying. But she found herself knocking on Xavi’s door. “Emerson has gone nuts,” she said. “I need your help.”

“What now?”

“Seriously. He’s lost it. Can we strategize?”

“Wrecking Emerson’s plans is my favorite pastime. What’s he up to, that stupid man?”

She gave a summary of Noeline’s accusations.

“Well,” he responded, unconcerned, “there’s no swindle. Wildfire is my idea, you’ve offered good suggestions, and the project is progressing. I don’t care what Emerson says. Don’t care where you came from or how you ended up here.”

“Thank you, Xavi. Thanks. Really.”

He told her about incorporating the company, which he’d researched, and that it looked possible that Duncan’s father might contribute money for them to set up at the Brain Trust. “But, before that, I do want to check something with you. Something I’ve been wondering for a few weeks now,” he said. “No, wait. I’m embarrassed.” He shook his head, raising his hand to hide the smile.

“Come on. Tell me.”

“I just was wondering. I just wanted to know,” he said, looking directly at her, “just want to know before we go any further. If I walked over to you right now and kissed you, would you be okay with that? We wouldn’t have to do more if you didn’t want,” he said. “Or we could.”

Tooly—who lacked much of a figure, who eschewed sexy outfits, who crossed her legs in a manly way because it was more comfortable—believed that any guy who expressed sexual hunger for her was either unselective or a compulsive womanizer. Perhaps Xavi was the broad-minded type, and didn’t care if a lover had already hopped into bed with his best friend. But Duncan would mind—he’d mind painfully—and he was next door.

She needed Xavi, though. He’d advocate on her behalf, puncture Emerson’s claims when they came. If she spurned him, she risked losing that support. If it was just a question of allowing her body to be used, she didn’t care—she had indulged a few men over the years, when it had been useful to learn more about them. She had just let it happen, and joked about it afterward with Venn. This would be no
different. Plus, Xavi was handsome. Though far less attractive now than he’d ever seemed.

“Right this second?” she said.

He smirked. “I just want to know if we
could
. After you answer me, we do whatever we want, or maybe nothing.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay what? What does that mean?”

“Okay means yes.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding, looking at his dress shoes. “What a disappointment.”

“What is?”

“You know,” he said. “You know.”

“I was only joking, Xavi.”

“You were not.”

“I was.”

“I noticed all this little flirting you’ve been doing with me for a while now,” he said. “But you must understand: Duncan is my brother.”

“Wait, wait,” she said. “You misunderstood. We’ll keep things businesslike now. Seriously.”

“No more business between me and you.”

“Come on.”

Xavi shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said, meaning no.

“I didn’t even …” It wasn’t worth finishing the sentence. She left, stood there in the corridor, looking at the front door.

Gathering her courage, she entered Duncan’s room. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Will you come outside with me? I need to take Ham for a walk.”

“Got tons more work. Is later okay?”

“Can it be now, Duncan?”

“You just called me ‘Duncan’ instead of ‘horrendous blob.’ You’ve got me worried,” he kidded.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work. You know I normally never do. Just need to talk.”

“Wildfire stuff?”

“Something else. Would you mind?”

Duncan—pleased to be needed, an emotion she so rarely exhibited toward him—closed his textbook. He wanted someone to rely on him; it was what he sought most. In a way, she had, taking refuge in his bedroom, finding status at his side and food in his refrigerator, making his place a home of her own in Manhattan. And, by mistake, she had grown so fond of this boy.

She tugged Ham’s leash to hurry him outside, wanting to escape the building, as if Emerson might leap out and ruin everything.

“What,” she asked, to establish an easy tone before the tense explanations to follow, “what would you do if you could do absolutely anything with your life?”

“You always ask me that.”

“I do not.”

“Well, versions of that question.”

“Because you never answer to my satisfaction.”

“How about you tell me what you
think
I should do,” he suggested, “and then I’ll say for you.”

“If it was up to me, I’d say you should be involved in music. That’s what you love most.”

“Music? Never.”

“What, then? And I want a proper answer, not this I-don’t-really-know-but-law-school-isn’t-so-bad stuff.”

He pondered. “Okay, here’s my honest answer: architecture. That’s what I always wanted to do, what I thought I’d do.”

“Then you should. Why can’t you?”

“I’m twenty-four. Too late in the game.”

Before Duncan could guess at her ideal future, she interrupted to inform him that Emerson was making all sorts of claims about her as a result of things she’d said to Noeline. Tooly readied herself for the obvious next question: If those two are twisting your words, what
did
you say?

But he sought no details. She handed him the leash. They walked in silence through Riverside Park. “Don’t really know what you’d want to do, if you could do anything,” he said belatedly, the pig yanking him around the other side of a tree trunk.

“Will I do well?”

“At what?”

“In my life.”

“You could. Why not.”

“I never thought so either.”

He looked at her, studied her. “Tooly,” he said, “I don’t care what you said or didn’t say to Noeline. I don’t care about their opinions. I’m not listening, even if they try to tell me something.”

She looked down. To lose ascendancy in this relationship made her want to hide till he left. But what was so terrible? Did she consider Duncan so beneath her that to be vulnerable before him was intolerable? After all, wasn’t vulnerability the point of a love affair?

But she lacked the courage to tolerate it. She reminded herself that she and Duncan owed each other no debt; that it was kinder to conclude this now than to keep implying, as she often had in small, subtle ways that he wasn’t quite for her, that his choices—law, for example—were somehow less meritorious than her chosen lifestyle, which consisted of avoiding choice altogether.

Removing herself from this relationship, as in mind she was trying to do, provided a sharper view of its elements, including a suspicion she’d long harbored that, while Duncan had love for her, was intrigued by her, amused by her, cared deeply for her, he lacked the sexual passion that fused two strangers. He found her body of interest, but little more, and she hadn’t wished to know this before. As they strolled, she almost told Duncan her explanation for why this was, to ease his mind by articulating what might have been a dreadful secret for him: that he was in love with someone else and seemed to have been for many years, someone whom he had followed from high school to college, whom he had joined back in New York under the
pretext of attending law school, allowing them to share quarters again—a best friend residing in the next room, who, Tooly felt certain, had no idea of Duncan’s attachment, nor would ever have accepted it. She wondered if Duncan himself did. She suspected that, had she dared cite this now, he’d be furious, and their final moment of companionship would be ugly. She put her mittens onto his icy hands, though he protested. At the corner of 115th Street, when he turned toward his building, expecting her to follow, she kissed him at length. “Be sweet to the pig,” she joked, winking at him, and continued alone, hastening as she went, pinching herself in punishment at such sentimentality.