Vulnerable (15 page)

Before taking Dr. Poussaint to Sea-Tac, he agreed to meet with Sicily and her friend at Union Square Grill for dinner. Rawn, Dr. Poussaint, Sicily, and Sicily's friend Lorraine were seated at a table in the crowded downtown Seattle restaurant waiting for their orders. Dr. Poussaint flirted harmlessly with Lorraine.

“What do you teach at the university?” Dr. Poussaint asked.

“Comparative literature.”

“What exactly
is
comparative literature?” Sicily mocked.

“Daddy, did I tell you Sicily wrote
Opposites Don't Attract!?”

“You mean that Broadway play, back in the—it had to be, what, ten years ago?”

“That one.”

“Rawn never mentioned you were a playwright. I thought you were…Was there not some scandal or controversy over the issue of nudity in
Opposites Don't Attract!?”

“In the beginning I guess it was somewhat controversial.”

“It seems I read in
Ebony
, or somewhere… Did you not fall ill?”

“Daddy…”

“No, Dr. Poussaint's correct. I didn't have a nervous breakdown as was erroneously reported in various publications. I was extremely exhausted and needed to…I decided to go back to school. I loved that time in my life, but it was… It was a stressful life. Not to mention, public. You have to be emotionally prepared for that kind of life or it will…let's say,
trick
you.”

“I remember it now, yes. In fact, Rawn's mother and I tried to get tickets. Twice when we were in New York, but it was sold out.” Somber, Dr. Poussaint leaned forward, the gossip surrounding
Opposites Don't Attract!
coming back to him unmistakably now. “Yes…you were celebrated. I remember reading about you. You were young—in your twenties when you wrote
Opposites Don't Attract!,
were you not?” Dr. Poussaint looked closely at Sicily.

She nodded and reached for her wineglass, diverting her eyes. She met Dr. Poussaint only briefly a year ago. But Sicily understood from conversations with Rawn that his father was censorious, and he sat across from her and gave her that look—like he was critiquing her.

“In your twenties? I didn't realize you were
that
young, Sicily,” said Lorraine.

“What? I'm old now? It was ten years ago.”

Contentedly, Lorraine laughed and reached for her wineglass. “I actually caught
Opposites Don't Attract!
I haven't been to New York in years. Is it still on Broadway?”

“It ended its run about a year ago.
Rent'
s a hot ticket now.”

“So, Rawn, Sicily tells me you're dating a model. Would I know her?” Lorraine said.

“If you get sexy lingerie catalogues in the mail.” Sicily chuckled.

“You're involved with a model?” Dr. Poussaint inquired.

Rawn eyed Sicily briefly. After a few seconds slowly passed, he met his father's chestnut eyes.

“Why would you deliberately lie to me?”

Rawn reached for his glass and took a gulp of the liquor.

“You told me last night you weren't involved with anyone,” his father said.

“I wouldn't use the word
involved
. I'm seeing her. It's not serious.”

“How can you not be
involved
if you're
seeing
her? Your generation… Who is this model?”

“You wouldn't know of her.”

“Is she famous?”

“What exactly does that mean?” Rawn said, irritated.

“Is she successful? Like…what's that model's name?”

“Naomi Campbell?” Lorraine asked.

“No, the other one.”

“Tyra Banks?” Sicily said.

“Yes, her. That's what I mean by
successful.”

“How can you determine someone's success when you relate it to fame? Fame is not what it used to be, Daddy. Success and fame aren't synonymous.”

“You're patronizing me. You know damn well what I'm getting at.”

“Actually, I'm not sure that I do.”

Sicily and Lorraine were gradually but surely growing uncomfortable.

Sicily, making every effort to be discreet, eyeballed the lively restaurant. Dr. Poussaint was a man of great accomplishment. Only twenty at the time, he marched with Dr. King in '63. Before he was thirty-five, he had performed brain surgery on a few men considered to be among Colorado's business elite. Although naturally classy, his charisma transformed into
street
in one split-second. Not his demeanor necessarily; it was his tone—hostile, belittling. He still had a few scores to settle in life. Sicily analyzed—that type of attitude went way deep.

Her eyes low, Lorraine nursed what was left of her drink. She contemplated on whether she should call for the waiter and order another bottle.

“Is she making a living strictly from modeling? Can she take care of herself? Because if she's unable to take care of herself, she'll eventually depend on you. Women like that…they're shallow and uneducated. They get caught up in drugs and have no self-respect. They're narcissistic.”

“Daddy, that's…You don't even know her!”

Dr. Poussaint studied his son. “How old is this model?”

“What difference does that make?”

“How old is she?” Dr. Poussaint snapped.

“Thirty-seven,” Rawn said, and he exhaled a deep breath.

“I thought models were over the hill by thirty!”

“I've met D'Becca. She hardly looks over the hill,” said Sicily, eager to rotate the tense energy at the table by using a bit of off-handed humor.

“Where does she come from, Rawn? Who are her parents? And why isn't she here with us this evening?”

“She's out of town.”

“How convenient!”

Before the meals arrived, Sicily was beginning to feel embarrassed for Rawn.

When their meals did arrive, Lorraine breathed a sigh of relief while Rawn pressed his back against the booth. It was difficult to determine if he was humiliated or merely perturbed.

“
W
ho was Narcissus?” Rawn asked.

By the very fact that he did not direct his question at anyone in particular, the students knew their laid-back teacher wanted someone to open the discussion. Rawn spent less time testing his students than he did engaging them with fervent dialogue. He loved a good debate.

“He's like this Greek god or something…and he was very beautiful,” a student volunteered.

“Okay,” said Rawn. He stood in the front of the classroom dressed casually in Tommy Hilfiger, his arms crossed. “Is that it?”

“He was in love with his sister.”

“Really?” Rawn said.

With a shrug, the student said, “Yea-
uh!”

“Does anyone else agree that Narcissus was in love with his sister?”

“It depends on how you interpret it, right? I mean he
loved
her and maybe his feelings were intense. You know, intense for the love of a sister. But I didn't get it—that he was
in love
with his sister. You know, the whole Narcissus thing is about him being in love with himself. That's crazy, right? Because I don't know anyone who's in love with themselves.”

“I was more interested in Ovid's interpretation,” said Richard.

“Who's Ovid?” a student blurted out.

Not only Rawn, but every other student looked to Luce, a student on scholarship at the Academy. Although she had great potential, Luce had family problems which led to her extreme distraction at school.
Her mother and father were going through a very messy divorce and she bounced between homes. All the teachers gave her the benefit of the doubt, but the Academy was a school that prepared its students for Ivy League universities. By ninth grade, each student at Gumble-Wesley had already read a handful of classics. Luce was not prepared to go to ninth grade. Rawn made every effort to work with her, but there was not enough time and attention from him or any other teacher. Luce was confused, and emotionally scarred with a low attention span.

Peter, who sat next to Luce and often ate with her during lunch recess, spoke up with some reluctance. “Luce! You know, Ovid had his own take on the whole Narcissus myth.”

“Oh,” Luce said, and went back to chewing on a fingernail.

Rawn winked at Luce and said, “Thanks, Peter.” He walked to the aisle where Luce was seated and said, “Luce, tell us about Echo.”

It was not Rawn's style to ask a particular student a question. He allowed each student to participate or remain anonymous. For those who chose to sit in silence, he judged them more harshly during tests and mid-terms. Every other student in the class leaned forward. Not so much because they wanted to hear what Luce had to say. No one would disagree: Luce was naturally gifted, which was how she managed to get into Gumble-Wesley. It was because she made the grave mistake of asking a ridiculous question, which led Rawn to believe she had not done her homework.

“Echo. She was in love with that faggot! She was so in love with the
idea.”

Luce's friend, Peter, was amused.

Rawn, standing nearby, nodded. “So, who believes that Narcissus was homosexual?” Rawn was not particularly pleased with Luce's answer because it would open up a subject he was not prepared to discuss.

“Homosexuality” was a hotbed topic for thirteen-year-olds. More often than he cared to, he pulled himself back when he sensed he went too far. Rawn understood the importance of emotional intelligence and taught within that framework. He urged his pupils to be curious about what obstacles try to teach you, and to respect diverse ideas and viewpoints. It was important, he often reminded them, to travel, be curious about the world, and to read lots of books. Generally he was conscientious whenever he insinuated his own ideas on his students.

“It's a Greek thing,” a student blurted out. “Every Greek story there's some kinda androgynous stuff going on.”

“I want you to write down ‘androgynous' on a scrap of paper, and I want you to tell me what you think it means. Hand it to me before you walk out of this classroom,” he said to the student.

“The tale is confusing,” another student said, picking the topic back up. “I'm not sure I understand it.”

“It's a metaphor,” a student interjected.

Snickers came from a few students.

“One thing Greek fables teach us, Mr. Poussaint. They sorta reflect where our head is at different places in our culture,” offered another student.

“Really?” Rawn walked back to the front of the class. “How's that?”

“Narcissus was awed or whatever…When he looked in the lake and saw his reflection, he was like confused and at the same time so blown away at himself. Think about it. Celebrities are a lot like that. Confused with their fame and popularity. You know, trying to reconcile with the whole
why me?
because of who they really are underneath the façade. I'm sure there's unresolved stuff going on; like self-doubt. You know, they ask themselves: Why am I so special; what have I done to deserve all this attention? But they're also like
awed
by it all at the same time. We're the ones putting them on pedestals. We're as confused and awed as they are. It's crazy. Image. Awe. What does it all mean? That's kinda what I got from Narcissus.”

“You're suggesting that we pump famous people up at the expense of ourselves,” Rawn suggested. “Okay. But let's not forget the idea of Greek myths,” he said. “Narcissus is one of many.” Rawn leaned against a wall, his arms crossed. “The story of Narcissus stopping to drink water from a lake and seeing his reflection for the first time and being
awed
by the beauty he sees reflected in the lake—is he spent by his own beauty? Is he the object of his own desire? Is he simply overcome: By an idea, a revelation?” Rawn walked to the center of the classroom. “I want you to really consider the myth of Narcissus in modern popular culture. Craig hinted at it when he brought up the whole concept of image and celebrity, and the subtext that surrounds each. Give me your ideas—knock out three, four pages—of how you see where Greek myth has an influence in modern culture. Choose quotidian influences: the Internet, styles, music. Literature.”

•  •  •

Rawn left the faculty doors on the east side of the Academy, and what immediately grabbed his attention was D'Becca's sporty Beamer. She took up two spaces in the visitor's parking lot directly in front of the school. It struck Rawn that she was audacious, if not presumptuous, enough to show up at the Academy. While walking toward her car, he thought it through what he might say to her. Yet as he got closer, he felt a warm sensation flow through him, followed by a sense of raw pleasure.

The hood to the Z3 was down, and a winter-white silk scarf draped over D'Becca's head of pulled-back hair and swung loosely
around her neck. She could pull off that Audrey Hepburn influence rather well. Rawn bent down and kissed her feverishly; his mouth had the taste of hunger.

“I'm so glad to see you.” The softness of her olive-hued eyes gave Rawn reason to believe she was quite sincere, and she missed him as much as he had
longed
to be with her.

“Are you?”

A quizzical brow elevated, as if she were questioning him questioning her.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice soothing and calm.

Rawn pulled up behind D'Becca in front of her townhouse. On the way to her place, he tried to resolve in his mind what exactly made her suddenly decide at this particular time to show him where and how she lived. They did not make it to the front door before Rawn was partially undressing her. D'Becca's anxious fingers fumbled with the keys to get into the townhouse. When the door opened, he eased her to the maple-colored hardwood floor and lifted her long and snug-fitted Lycra skirt above her hips. With the heel of her leather boot, she attempted to close the door, but her concentration was hopelessly distracted.