Page 77 of Just One Look
A Woman Thing
Elizabeth was still standing up,hovering a little, Luka saw. She said, “She really is beautiful.” Which was what you were supposed to say about a baby, he knew, but since this one was screaming at the top of her lungs at the moment, it wasn’t exactly believable.
Nyree started unbuttoning her top, and Luka stood up pretty smartly himself, saying, “Cheers for the tea, mate. Ring me Wednesday if you want to get a beer. I’d say ‘golf,’ but—”
“But your neck’s still bad,” Elizabeth said. “Right. See you later. Nice to meet you, uh …”
“Miriama,” Nyree’s mum said. “You as well.”
Luka was the first one out the door, but you could say it was a bit of a race. When they were outside again, Elizabeth said, “I know why I bolted. Why did you?”
“Pardon?” Luka said. “She had a breast out. Was I hanging around to stare at that? I was not.”
“Oh. I was afraid you wanted to talk to me.”
“Interestingly,” he said, “Idowant to talk to you. Let’s walk.”
“I don’t …” she began, and he said, “What? Got big plans, have you? It’s a bit hard to believe it when you’ve just gone on about how you never have plans, because all you do is surgery. Of course, I know you, so I’ve heard that before. Have you noticed that every time we’ve been together, you’ve told me you won’t make it next time? Assume I’ve got the message. Come on. We’ll walk in Dingle Dell, out of the wind.”
“DingleDell?”she said. “What in the world is Dingle Dell? Does it have dwarf houses? Flying fairies? Magical pixies? Is this whole country just the world’s largest theme park?”
“Probably,” he said, turning into the reserve. She was wearing the perfume. He was trying not to notice it. Hedidneed to talk to her, and the perfume was just going to distract him.
He shouldn’t have taken off her clothes last night. He’d thought he was doing it for the right reasons. He’d been fooling himself, because if he closed his eyes, he could still see her when he’d got that bra off. Not to mention when she’d realized he was doing it, so she didn’t have to struggle with it anymore. When she’d sighed, put an arm up over her head, and closed her eyes.
She was wrong. He hadn’t seen her naked. He’d seen her in a pair of pale-blue bikini undies made of satin and a sort of net at the top that let you see through, offering you that glimpse of skin that was so much more tantalizing than seeing everything. They’d been cut high on her hips, and her thighs, below them, had been as round and lush as he’d imagined. She didn’t have any tan at all, because she spent her life under fluorescent lights, with her wild, wavy hair under a cap and her wide, generous mouth under a mask.
She lived her life covered up and closed down, but she kept letting him see her.
“I know,” she said, after a minute, “that was all extremely … explosive of me back there. I just vomited all that out. No control at all. I have no idea what that was about.”
“Was it not true, then?” he asked.
“What, you think I can lie? Isn’t it obvious that I am congenitally unable to lie?”
He said, “Not sure who you’re fighting here. Definitely not sure why it would be me.”
Silence for a minute, and she said, “Because I’m embarrassed.”
“Ah. Why?”
“Why? Because I just said allthat?”She was waving an arm a bit now. “Because I like Nyree, and shedoesmake me laugh, exactly like we were talking about last night, and I talked to her about babies with brain tumors?”
Now, he was laughing. Trying not to think about her naked, and failing, but amused, too. Living on both levels. “You did. I can’t say it was the most conventional conversational topic I’ve ever heard, but nobody can say it was boring. Also, Nyree wanted to know. She asked. You tried to back off. She kept asking, I reckon because she likes her life exciting. Why aren’t you angry at her for pushing you? And who cares that you were honest, once she finallydidpush you? Or I’ll ask this. Why doyoucare that you were honest?”
“Do not try to pretend that what I said was socially acceptable,” she said. “I said that it doesn’t affect me when my patients die. Also, it’s extremely beautiful in here. Very green and … feathery. Ferns. Ferny trees. Et cetera.”
“It is,” he said. “Let me guess. Today was the first time you’ve even taken a real walk and looked around you. First time on the beach, definitely.”
“You’re right. And I’m not going to feel bad about that. I told you, I work. It’s what I do, and I’m tired of apologizing for it. That was the whole point of that outburst! Besides, I went perfume shopping. I went to your rugby game. I came here. Iinvitedmyself here. I’m being social! This is me being social! Notice how well I did it? Wonder why I don’t do it more?”
“Exactly,” he said. “I don’t think the problem is whether what you said was socially acceptable, because it was. Maybe not to Nyree’s mum, but in the company where you said it? It was acceptable.”
“To Nyree, maybe. But did you notice the, ‘Don’t care about my dying patients’ part?”
“Nah. We’re not going to believe you don’t care. It’s obvious you care. Also, it’s not like you were crying. That’s when men get uncomfortable, at least when I do. You were talking about your interesting job in an interesting way. I don’t think the problem was your conversation at all. I think the problem is that you don’t thinkyou’resocially acceptable.”
“How insightful,” she said. “You should be a psychologist. Well,obviouslyI don’t.”
