Page 54 of Torn
I laughed, sliding into my shorts. I didn’t know I could be comfortable enough without clothes. I had a weird aversion to sitting on furniture without something between my butt crack and the upholstery, no matter how romantic the idea might be. “Why wouldn’t I believe that?”
“I don’t know. They’re just such opposites. Mo’s a free spirit, brilliant, artsy. Out and proud bisexual. You never what she’s gonna say or do next. And Joanne is button-down shirts and Brooks Brothers suits, practical to a fault. Militant feminist. Just very, very different.”
The description made me think of Tom. I saw him in my living room, watchingThe Fresh Prince of Bel-Airand chuckling kind of mindlessly, unaware that I was studying him. I remembered him telling me over dinner at a Polish smorgasbord restaurant on Milwaukee Avenue that he never read books and, in fact, had only finished one,Of Mice and Men, in high school. Even though I knew it was cruel, I’d wondered if he was my Lenny.
Yet thinking of Tom made me miss him and his simple ways. I also thought of him over me after sex, wiping me down with a warm cloth and looking at me with utter adoration.
We, too, were opposites, but somehow we seemed to work.
“They complement each other,” I said, as we headed down the narrow stairs to the main part of the house.
THE TOURrevealed a house the likes of which I’d never seen. I mean, I grew up in the poor part of a struggling, seen-better-days, industrial small town in the foothills of the Appalachians. We had two tiny bedrooms and one bathroom for the whole family. Wall-to-wall carpeting was luxury.
This place? I don’t even know how to begin describing it. The floors throughout were wide-plank pale wood that, despite their matte finish, rusty nails, and purposeful scuffs, carried about them a kind of simple elegance. The windows were all framed in dark wood and stretched, in almost every instance, from floor to ceiling, revealing sun-dashed forest landscapes of breathtaking scope and beauty. Furnishings were simple, and even a decorating novice like me could tell they were very, very luxurious. Here and there, worn Oriental rugs in reds, grays, creams, and blacks covered areas and defined rooms. Light fixtures were tarnished brass and dark metal, continuing the feel of a cabin. But this was too large to be a cabin. Art graced the walls, huge canvasses, displaying everything from almost photographic realism, to pop art, to impressionism, to abstract expressionism. I had a feeling that most, if not all, of the work was original.
“This is my favorite part,” Walt said, leading me outside through a pair of french doors at the rear of the house.
Below me was one of the most gorgeous swimming pools I’d ever seen. It was irregularly shaped, like a pond, and surrounded with boulders and pampas grass. In the middle of it was a small grassy island, which I would guess was about ten by ten. One end of the pool had a cascading waterfall, the water tumbling over ochre and red stones. The pool was lined with small pebbles instead of concrete, and the pale-green water shimmered in the sun. A few lily pads floated on its surface.
“It almost looks like a real pond.” Obvious, but it was all I could think to say.
“Enhanced reality.” Walt pointed out a little twin of the house next to the pool. “That’s the pool house. It’s got its own bath, kitchen, and living suite. I’ll show it to you later.”
I couldn’t help but think how this small “spare” house was more luxurious than the home I’d grown up in. It made me excited and a little nauseous all at the same time. All of this opulence was making me feel out of my element, as though I somehow didn’t deserve to be here.
I turned to Walt. “Whoisthis friend of yours, anyway?”
He blurted out the unfamiliar name. “You know, the fashion designer.”
I shook my head.
“Come on. You probably have some of his labels in your closet back in Chicago.”
I doubted it. I did my clothes shopping at TJ Maxx, Target, and the Brown Elephant thrift store on Halsted.
“And you know him how?”
“We went to Princeton together.”
I gulped. Why was this conversation suddenly making me so uncomfortable? “You went to Princeton?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you?”
“On a scholarship?”
Walt looked puzzled and shook his head. “No.” He took my hand. “Let me show you the kitchen, and I can make you something to eat.” He grinned devilishly. “I want to make sure you keep your stamina up.” He stopped and peered over his shoulder, then nodded toward the pool. “See that little island? We can make lots of fun use of that later on.”
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the house after the brilliant sunshine. I felt disoriented and a little lost. I’d grown up poor, but not wanting for anything. Dad was a welder, and Mom took care of my sisters and me and our little house. They had a Christmas club at the bank—and beyond that, they pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck. If not for a scholarship and loans, I would have never been able to afford even a state school like Miami University.
Walt started toward the kitchen, blissfully unaware of my conflicted feelings, as far as I could tell.
“Wait.” I stood still in my tracks near the french doors.
He turned, cocked his head.
“I didn’t know you attended an Ivy League school.”
He shrugged. “It never came up. It’s no big thing, really. Where did you go?”
