The Thirst Within (4 page)

“Well….” I don’t know how to start. I haven’t
been asked the question since I moved here. I decide to skip the part about my
parents. “My grandmother was my legal guardian. She passed away about a month
ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she makes a concerned face,
like she’s worried about how I’m coping. “And your parents?”

Here goes. “My parents died when I was four. I
don’t really remember them,” I say quickly, although it’s partly a lie. I just
don’t want her to pity me.

It doesn’t work. “Ohh… I’m sorry,” she repeats,
now sincerely affected.

“That’s okay. I have one aunt on my father’s
side and one uncle on my mom’s side—that’s Fiona’s stepdad—so I came here to
live with him.”

“So you’re here to stay, then?”

“I guess so.” The thought is a little depressing.
Then I remember Thierry and cheer up.

“Well, I’ll make sure you feel right at home,
then.” She smiles again, sincerely, and I want to hug her. “What do you do
during the weekends?”

“I’m looking for a part-time job I can work
during weekends. I’m not exactly fully pledged to the Harrises so I don’t ask
for money.”

“But they’re loaded, Tori. Don’t feel bad.”

“I just…. I don’t know. I’ve only been with
them for a week. Less than a week.”

“Okay, so give it a little while, you say, till
you start buying me lunches?”

I smile. I guess I’ve made a friend.

***

I meet John again during seventh period,
History. As we’re picking up our books and heading out of the classroom, he
asks me if I’ve seen one of the new big movies out on the theaters right now. I
fear that his follow-up question will be if I want to go watch it. He doesn’t
show any interest in me, and he doesn’t flirt with me. He’s just being
friendly, I suppose. But just in case, I’m careful. I use the money excuse,
which is true so I don’t feel so bad lying to him.

“I’d like to, but I’m so poor right now. I’m
actually looking for a job,” I say.

“Hey, if you’d really like to, I could sneak
you in. I work at the theater.” Oh. That explains why he mentioned movies. See?
Nothing to fear.

I act like he’s such a daredevil. “I don’t
think I have the nerve to sneak in.”

“It’s nothing! Every one of the employees
sneaks in their friends all the time. I think it’s an unwritten official benefit.
Who needs healthcare when you can sneak in your buddies? It’s such a great job.”
His face suddenly lights up. “Hey—you need a job! They’re hiring high school
kids at the movies where I work. The job’s easy. All you have to do is sit
behind the counter and look pretty. Oh and occasionally sweep popcorn, if Jason
is a no-show. Oh and sometimes point the customers to the right theater. Oh
and—”

“Okay, okay! I get it.” I say laughing a
little. He had me at
they’re hiring
. “Sounds good; I’ll definitely
consider it. In fact, what’s their number? I’ll call them tonight.”

“Just ask for Andrea and tell her I sent you. Here.”
He scribbles down something on a notebook, tears out the page and hands it to
me.

“Thanks, John,” I say, excited about the
possibility of working at the movies.

“No problem! Gotta run—good luck!”

I meet Fiona by her car.

“Had a good first day, did ya?” she asks me.

“It was okay,” I say. It wasn’t stellar,
because Thierry doesn’t go to school here, but it wasn’t bad.

“Why so smiley, then?”

I automatically stop smiling. Does she hate
seeing me smile? “Nothing. Well, a guy told me they’re hiring at the theater. I
might check that out.”

“What guy?”

“John Schmidt.”

“Oh, I know him. Meh. He’s alright,” Fiona
says. It sounds more like, he’s not interesting enough for her. “So which
theater? The IMAX?”

“I don’t know,” I say, a little pissed off. I
don’t like how she just dismissed John. He’s kinda cute. It makes me wonder if
she really doesn’t care about him, or if she’s just pretending not to, because
he chose to be friendly to me. “He just gave me a number.”

“That’d be so cool if you worked at the IMAX.
You’d meet so many hot guys. And you’d keep some of the coolest posters….” She
keeps listing the benefits of working at the theater all the way home, while I
shove my annoyance in the back of my head, as usual.

I do call Andrea at the movie theater—it turns
out to be the IMAX—and she says she wants to interview me tomorrow. It’s near
the French Quarter, and there’s a bus that takes me there almost directly. I’d
have to walk a few blocks from the house to the bus stop and from the bus stop
to the theater. It sounds doable. For the first time since I got here, I go to
sleep excited with the possibility of tomorrow.

***

On Tuesday I find out Kerin and I have three
classes in the morning together, which cheers me up more than I care to admit.
We walk together to the cafeteria after PE, and I sit down next to her without
even thinking about Fiona. After a few minutes we’re joined by a bit plump and short
brunette.

“Hey, Lynn, this is Tori. She’s new,” Kerin
introduces me.

“Hi, Tori. Oh, you’re new? I wouldn’t know,”
she says, making fun of Kerin.

“Screw you, Lynn,” Kerin replies, but she snickers.

Fiona comes in, but doesn’t care to approach me
or even acknowledge me. It doesn’t surprise me, but it still stings. Lynn turns
out to be okay, but she’s into doing geek things like library club or chess
club or A/V club… something. The whole time we talk Kerin makes sure to include
me in the conversation. When they talk about other people, she goes out of her
way to give a short background on the person, so that I follow the story or the
point either she or Lynn is trying to make. I don’t tell them, but I’m really
grateful.

After lunch, Kerin and I head off to class
together while Lynn goes off a different way. Kerin seems cool with me
replacing her recently-busy friend, at least during classes. And I don’t mind
being a replacement if it means I have someone to talk to. During seventh
period I tell John about my interview, and he’s excited for me. He says it’s a
bummer that he won’t be working today so he won’t see me there, which makes me
feel a little weird, but I ignore it.

Finally, after school, Fiona takes me to my
interview. Andrea turns out to be a young manager in her late twenties, and
also a fan of John. Half an hour later I have a job.

“That was easy,” Fiona says when she picks me
up.

“Yes! Wow, I’m excited,” I say.

“Yeah, Tori. You’ll let me sneak in the good
stuff, right?”

I’ve no idea what she means. Candy? Hard-core
liquor? I don’t know. So I give a non-committal response. “It sounds like I’ll
be in the office box for the most part, but I’ll help you in whatever way I can.
Thanks for driving me today.”

“Oh, not a problem. I wanted to get out of the
house, and Mom blows shit when I go out on a weeknight. However, since she’s
interested in helping you out, she encouraged me to take you.”

I don’t know how to reply to that; it’s a
typical Fiona response that somehow always manages to leave me feeling
unwanted. But I’m happy about my small success today. It’s a simple job at the
movie theater, and all I have to work is minimum ten hours a week. Sounds easy
enough. I’ll get paid minimum wage, but I’ll get a few hundred dollars per
month. I’ll be able to afford a cellphone and call my supposed BFF Thierry.
Squeal.

Now let’s just hope he remembers me.

Saturday is my first full day shift. I’ve
worked twice already for a few hours after school, and it wasn’t bad at all. I
got most of my training done, and today I’m ready to sit behind the counter
with John. If I need anything I can ask him directly.

I get my first customers. They’re a couple,
older than me, probably in their early twenties. They present their college
cards to get a discount. College! Thierry is in college. This is a college
student hang out; it didn’t occur to me when I joined. What if he comes here to
watch a movie? Crazy tingles run up and down my body at the thought of seeing
him again. Thierry Colbert.

“Hey, John, do you know if it’s Col-bert or
Col-bear?” I ask, after I’ve handled the students’ transaction.

“I’d say Col-bear. Like, you know, Stephen
Colbert?”

“Who?”

“You don’t know who Stephen Colbert is?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, of course I do;
I just asked you because I momentarily forgot. Or I just like to hear you
explain things to me. No I don’t know who he is! That’s why I said, ‘Who?’”

“Hey now. Sorry. I forget you grew up with
grandparents.” We’ve taken the bus together after school, so we’ve discussed my
life. “Stephen Colbert’s a comedian. He’s got that show, the Colbert Report?”

It now rings a bell. “Oh. Right.”

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, but he
doesn’t sound nosy. Just standard follow up question: Why?

“I just…. I know someone whose last name is Colbert,
and I don’t want to pronounce it wrongly in front of him. And that actually
explains his first name.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Thierry,” I overly pronounce it and spell it out
for him. “I think it’s French.” I don’t think; I already know that it’s a French
name from when I googled him. At school, in the computer lab. I’d never use
Fiona’s computer to google Thierry.

John changes his expression slightly, like
something bothers him. He says, “Yeah, that’s a French name,” but changes the
subject, asking me what do I think about school and work so far.

We continue the last few hours of our shift
without mentioning French names, only an occasional short conversation every
five minutes or so to keep the mood casual. I don’t pay much attention, though.
I’m daydreaming of Thierry walking up to the door—of which I have a clear
view—and holy shit, here he comes.

“Thierry!” I say under my breath. Out of the
corner or my eye I see John look at me, and then turn his head towards the
front.

“What is this! Why, it’s Tori, the worst friend
and lendee ever,” he says as he walks up to my booth. He’s all smiles when he
says it, so I don’t take it seriously, and anyway, I’m beside myself. I’ve been
thinking about him all day, and he’s here. “When did you start working here?”

“Just this week! And I’m sorry. Here! I
actually have money today.” I fish some bills out of my pocket and push the money
through the opening in the glass enclosure.

“You’re no fun, Tori,” he says, picking up the
cash reluctantly. “Won’t let me have my moment. How else am I supposed to guilt
you for not calling me? Is that how you treat your friends?”

“No, I just… I don’t have a cellphone, so I got
this job, so that I can afford one, and then I was going to call you.”

“You’re working so that you can afford a phone?”

“Yeah,” I say, not embarrassed. “I have some
money, but not much, and I need income to afford a phone. Friendships aren’t
easy.” I shake my head and roll my eyes exasperatedly.

“By all means, then, work! When’s your break?”

“I only have about an hour more to go, and then
I need to eat. I’m starving.”

“I’ll take you out to eat,” he offers.

Something clicks in my brain as I realize that
he may have just asked me out on a date. My plan was to go home and have
dinner. As much as I hate having dinner there, when I think that I have to work
half an hour to afford the cheapest sandwich at the store—the just vegetables
one—I suck it up and have dinner with the Harrises.

“But you’ll be watching your movie,” I say,
because if he takes me out to dinner I’d be embarrassed to go to a cheap
sandwich joint, although something tells me he’d want to buy me dinner. I think
about just accepting and risking having to pay dinner. So what if I have to?
It’d be worth it just for the entertainment value. Checking out guys can be
expensive. Then I remember he hasn’t ordered tickets yet. “What do you want to
watch?”

“I want to watch you eat.”

I laugh. “Uh, cuhr-eepy!”

“What? I already ate, but you’re staaarving”—he
does a poor imitation of me—“so I’ll take you out to dinner, and since you’re
saving for a phone, I’m paying for you.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts in.
“That’s what BFFs do, Tori. Of course I fully expect you to pay for my dinners
when I’m starving and I have no money.”

“Of course,” I say, playing along.

“Okay, so I’ll pick you up…” he looks at his
watch. “At eight. Is that when you get out?”

“Yes,” I say. Something bothers me just
slightly. Then I remember. “But Thierry, you came here to watch a movie,” I say.

“Did I?” he asks with a mischievous grin, and
winks at me. He turns around and walks towards the door, then out the theater
and into my chest to settle there and make me feel strange things.

I turn to look at John, and he’s just staring
at me open-mouthed.

“What?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he says, and looks down at his
register. But he looks back at me. “So you’re going out on a date after work?”

“I—I guess so,” I say, and I fidget in my seat.
A date! I don’t have makeup with me. I don’t even know protocol with the
Harrises. Am I supposed to ask for permission? I’m only seventeen. But they’re
not my parents…. Do they care? I’m living with them, and Uncle Roland is my
legal guardian. Shit. I totally should get their approval first.

But it’s only dinner, I tell myself. I don’t
need to ask for permission. I’d definitely ask for permission if I were to go
out to a party, or go out on a school night. This is just the same dinner I
could have at the mall, except with an adult guy.

I’m good at this talking to myself thing.

I get off at 7:45 PM, but I don’t call Thierry
to rectify. First, that would require me using the box office’s line, and I
don’t want his number to show up in the call history, or billing statement,
anywhere; I don’t know why. Second, I
would
call him, if it was
important, but it’s only fifteen minutes I have to wait. And third, I could use
the time to walk to the Walgreens nearby and buy a cheap makeup kit, which I
think I desperately need.

I leave out the back of the theater and step
out to the back alley that leads to the employees’ small parking lot. It’s
really dark outside, and colder than I expected. The second the door slams
behind me I want to open it again and take the long way to the Walgreens—around
the front of the theater—because it’s better lit. But I see a figure outside, a
little off to the right, and for some stupid reason I don’t want to reveal that
I’m confused in front of a total stranger who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about
me.

Hold that thought… the guy seems to give a
rat’s
something
about me. His chest comes forward as if he’s checking me
out. I don’t recognize him. He’s not wearing the theater’s uniform, either.
He’s wearing a hooded jacket, and his hands are in his pockets. I mistook him
for an employee on his break, but this guy looks like he doesn’t belong here.

I don’t know what to do. If I walk towards the
Walgreens, which is to my left, I expose my back to him. If I stay here and try
to find the key to the back door which is somewhere in the bottom of my bag,
and he’s a serial killer, I’m so dead. If I walk towards him, uh… I don’t want
to do that.

I take the lesser of three evils and walk away
from him, walking briskly down the alley to where it meets the side street between
the theater and the next building, where I fully intend to start running after
I turn and I’m out of his sight. In the meantime, I dig my hand in my purse and
grope around for the keys, which I then slip between my fingers as knuckle
claws of sorts, and turn my hand into a fist. If this guy tries anything, I’m
clawing the shit out of him.

I hear a whistle behind me, and then footfalls,
and my heart enters panic mode. The guy is following me, catching up with me,
and I’m not exactly ready for this. But the alley turn is so close, only about
twenty feet away—and as I look up, another figure in a wide jacket emerges from
the side street, and starts walking towards me. And this one’s
big
.

I can scratch this new guy all I want, but it’s
not going to do jack shit.

Fuck it. I’m dead. Or
worse
, my brain shows
me what I don’t want to admit to myself. And for the first time in my life, I have
to consider the meaning of the expression
a fate worse than death
.

I slow down, and automatically maneuver to my
right as if to give Big Guy ample space to walk by me. As if that’s what he
wants to do. But I keep walking towards him, he towards me, and the guy behind
me still behind me—I’m assuming, since I can’t hear his footsteps anymore over
the angry thrashing of my heart—and I hope that my heart will actually fail and
kill me before they do.

A third figure steps out from the side street
that Big Guy came from.

I see him over Big in front of me, and this one
is smaller, leaner, but he just stands there without moving. His stance for
some reason doesn’t bother me. Or maybe it’s his clothes. Whatever it is, my
brain doesn’t catalog him with the other two under “trouble.”

And then he calls out, “
There
you are,”
and I want to collapse with relief, because it’s Thierry.

I see Big in front of me wince slightly, and
turn around to see the person who just called. I can’t hear the footsteps
behind me anymore, but Big turns his head back towards me and looks over my
shoulder, probably at the guy behind me. He jerks his head to the left a
little. It just occurs to me that they might be signing Thierry’s death over my
shoulder. Shit. Thierry’s tall but slim, and there’s only one of him. And this
guy is so
wide
.

However, I feel infinitesimally better that Thierry’s
here, and as I pass the big guy as though he was just a regular pedestrian, I
take a peek at his face without meaning to. Reflex reaction. Big Guy is
angry
.
What’s he going to do?

I keep moving towards Thierry, who’s got a look
of concentration on his face as though he’s trying to listen to what they might
be saying to each other, but they’re not talking, so I’m confused. When I walk
up to him, he puts an arm around me—imminent fate worse than death or not, I
still manage to feel a thrill when he presses me against his side—and he turns
us around and back towards the side street where he came from. This alley is
wider and better lit. Even with the size difference between Thierry and Big
Guy, I’m not scared anymore.

I can’t help it; I put my arm around him and
lean into his shoulder. He pulls me closer but doesn’t say anything. We walk the
length of the building and make it to the main parking lot in front of the
theater, presumably walking towards his car. Only then he gently lets go off
me, and I do the same, but we walk side-by-side.

“So, did you get off early?” He breaks the
silence. His tone is warm and friendly; not at all chastising or angry or
nervous, like I imagined it would be.

“I got off at seven forty-five,” I say. “I was
gonna go to the Walgreens and come back, and meet you at the theater at eight,
I swear.”

“That’s okay. I would’ve found you eventually,”
he says, although I don’t see how. “What were you going to the Walgreens for?”

“I, uh… I wanted to buy a makeup case.” I don’t
know why I tell him the truth. He hasn’t made any advances towards me other than
offer me his friendship, and as much as my heart begs me to consider that he
wouldn’t be that friendly if he were not—unexplainably—into me, my brain
doesn’t believe it for a second, and calls me an idiot for basically admitting
to him that I wanted to get prettied up for our date. Our
dinner
, I
mean, that no one has called a date yet. John doesn’t count.

“What, for your cousin or her friends?”

I’m confused. “What?”

“You said you didn’t have any friends of your
own. Or has that changed these last ten days?”

My heart skips a beat, because he’s counting
the days since we met. “No, I still don’t have any real friends,” I tell him.
Kerin is my would-be friend. John doesn’t count.

“Then who is it for? Not you, obviously, since
you don’t need a makeup kit.”

My face contorts into a ridiculous expression
of happy pain and I can only reply, “Aww.” And just like that, the darkness of
the alley and the two guys and what they may still be doing over there, and
every problem at home, everything, it all completely disappears.

“It’s true,” he says, smiling. No, it isn’t,
but I’m not going to argue with him.

“Well, thanks,” I say.

He winks in acknowledgment. “So okay, what’s
your favorite place around here?” Thierry asks me, as he stops in front of an
Audi. I think that’s an expensive car, but I’m not sure. He opens the passenger
door for me, and I get in. Wow. It smells amazing inside the car. Like fresh
laundry, or pine trees, or spring…. I inhale deeply and try to commit the smell
to memory. Then he gets in the driver side, his hands on the steering wheel,
and he looks terribly cute. Young, although he’s four years older than me. There
is not a wrinkle in his face.

“What?” he asks, laughing nervously, and I
realize I didn’t respond to his question.

“Oh, nothing,” I snap out of it and lie
smoothly. “I was just thinking. I really don’t know where to eat around here. I
normally go straight home to eat.”

“Okay. Then how about I just take you to a
place I’ve gone by where it smells really great?”

“It smells really great,” I repeat, for his
confirmation.

He nods. “Yes. So I’m assuming the food tastes
great, too.”

“But you’ve never been there?”

“Never.”

“And you already ate, so you won’t be trying it
today.”

“I fully expect a description, Tori,” he says
as though that explains everything.

“Suuure, why not.” I shrug, sit back in the
passenger seat, and let him take me wherever he wants. I don’t care, as long as
I’m with him.

The wonderfully smelling place turns out to be a
French restaurant only a few blocks away in the French Quarter. We could’ve
walked, but Thierry drives to the front of the restaurant and gives his car to
the valet. I hope it’s not too fancy, because I’m wearing work clothes. Thierry
is in casual clothes, jeans and a shirt, but he could be a magazine model, so
he could probably attend a royal wedding wearing just that.

We get seated, and I relax as I notice it’s not
too-too fancy. I manage to order without the need for a translator. I’m no
longer starving since my stomach’s full of knots, so all I order is a salad
that has fancy ingredients I’ve never seen in a salad before.

We get a bread basket while I wait for my food,
and suddenly I’m hungry again.
Make up your mind
, I tell my stomach. I
decimate the bread while Thierry watches with fascination.

“Tell me about yourself,” I request. Since I’m
eating and he’s not, I don’t want him to just sit there.

“I’m waiting for you to finish so that I can
hear your long story.”

“What long story?” I ask.

“How you moved from Iowa. ‘Or Illinois. Like,
yesterday,’” he says, trying to imitate me. I laugh at his attempt at a
high-pitched voice.

“It
is
a long story! And I’m eating.” To
further prove the point, I grab another roll and butter it up. The butter is
some type of delectable spread with herbs and something sweet. “So, you go
first. Are you from around here?”

He looks at me as if debating, but he concedes.
“Okay. I wasn’t born here, I was born in Nice, France, but I’ve been here long
enough. In New Orleans, specifically, I’ve lived for sixteen years.”

Sixteen! He was five, so young, when his
parents moved here.

“So are your parents here?”

“No. My parents are dead,” he says in a flat
voice.

“Oh. Mine too. Any siblings?” I don’t say I’m
sorry or ask how they died or how old he was when it happened. I’m sure he’s as
tired of it as I am when people ask me, based on the tone of his reply. I take
a bite out of my roll.

“I have a younger brother. But he lives up
North, in Chicago.”

I’m assuming the brother was raised in New
Orleans as well, but goes to school in Chicago. However, I don’t ask, because
I’m not sure how much he wants to share.

“I wish I had a sister,” I admit to him my
lifelong wish. “Then maybe I’d have someone right now.”

“Hey, now. You have me, remember?” He cocks his
head a bit to the side. I die a little inside.

“That’s right,” I say happily. “You’re my BFF.
And you’re also an orphan. What are the odds?”

He purses his lips as if debating to tell me
something. “My mom died when I was little, so I never really knew her, but my
dad raised me. He passed away after I’d already grown up.”

“Oh. Then it must’ve been hard for you. I mean,
my parents both died when I was four. I don’t remember them that much. And as
for my grandparents, the ones that raised me, they were a bit older. They were
sick for a while before they passed, so I kinda got used to the idea before it
happened.”

“I see. Well, for me it wasn’t that hard. My
father was actually—”

At that moment the waiter returns with my
salad, and Thierry’s distracted by the look the waiter gives me—a sort of one-over
with a raised brow. I don’t understand the look myself, but Thierry’s
expression darkens slightly. His expression confuses me further, which Thierry
has managed to do a few times already. I shrug it off because the plate in
front of me looks interesting. Even though I’m already quite possibly full from
all the rolls I ate, I eat my dinner heartily.

“Hey, so you were saying about your dad…?”

“I forgot,” he says, and he laughs.

“That’s okay. So you and your brother never had
to live with foster parents?” I ask him, between bites. Never with food in my
mouth, per Nana Fran’s rules of dining.

“No,” he says. “We were both of age when my father
passed away.”

Oh. Then they must have lost their father
recently, if his brother had to be at least eighteen, and he has to be about
twenty or younger. But I don’t say anything.

“No grandparents?” I ask.

He takes a second and looks up, as if trying to
remember what happened to his grandparents. “I never met my maternal grandparents.
I did meet my father’s father; he died when I was still in France. As for his
wife, my paternal grandmother, I don’t really remember her.”

“Aw,” I say, taking a break from chewing. “Grandparents
can be fun. The only problem is they die too early….” I frown. “I was raised by
my grandparents near the Quad Cities in Iowa. After they died, my aunt took me
in.”

“Ah, that would be Illinois, around ‘like, a
week’ before I met you,” he says, and does the same terrible girl-voice impression
that I’m assuming is supposed to be me.

“You know, it’s freaky the amount of
information that you retain,” I observe.

“That’s what BFFs do. But I’m right, right? You
moved with your aunt… to Illinois?”

“Yeah, with my Aunt Marie. I don’t think she
liked me that much. She basically kicked me out, and asked my uncle Roland to
pick me up.”

“She was crazy, or what?”

“Um,” I say, and pause. I’m not convinced she
was crazy. “I don’t know. She was just sad. Her mother died, and she ended up
stuck with me. Okay so far. But then her husband died the first morning I spent
with them, which also happened to be Christmas. I think she just associated one
thing with the other….”