Leopoldine Core - When Watched - Stories

She laughed.

“How’s Angie?” he asked.

“You know. Fine. Terrible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think that’s what prison is like. You’re fine and then you’re terrible.”

“Right.”

“She told me a lot more about her childhood.” Lenora shook her head. “It all made so much sense.”

“What did?”

“The abuse.”

“She was abused?”

“By her father. He beat her with a belt. She said it had a scene of the desert on it.”

“Are you putting that in the book?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

He stared at her. “Do you think she likes you?”

“She doesn’t get a lot of visitors, Hank.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He tried to dock her gaze with his own but it rushed away. “Does she like you?” he said and realized his question was really: Does she hate you? Because in that moment he did.

“Why would she agree to see me if she didn’t like me?”

“I don’t know.” He threw his hands up. “Boredom? Loneliness? Desperation? ”

Lenora cut her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“I just wonder how she feels about her life going into a book— your book. Of fiction. I mean, at least if it was nonfiction—”

“I think she likes that I’m so interested,” Lenora said. “Her whole life people have rejected her.” She climbed into bed and pushed the laptop off his stomach, then ran one manicured finger down his chest and over his navel, pausing at the waistband.

Hank’s head drained of all thought. He waited for her finger to move farther down but a second later it was gone.

She’d gotten up and opened the closet door. “John and Susan are having a party.” Lenora surveyed her clothes, then withdrew a gray dress. It was almost identical to the one she was wearing.

Hank felt his excitement sputter and die — shrink down to a pit of rage. “I hate those two.”

“There’ll be food.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. Cheese and crackers?”

“There aren’t enough cheese and crackers in the world.”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to go.”

So of course he went.

• • •

They were both pretty drunk when they left the party. In the cab they stared out opposing windows, flat blobs of colored light flying over their faces.

“I didn’t know it was Susan’s birthday,” Hank said. “We were the only ones without a gift.”

“They live in Brooklyn. The gift is that we came .”

He laughed.

“It was weird seeing all those guys I went to college with,” Lenora said. “They all looked so different.”

“You mean bad. They looked bad.”

“Sort of.” She patted a yawn. “They’re just older — they aren’t cute. Like, the exact thing I identified as cuteness is now gone.”

“We’re older too.”

“I know that.”

“It’s so awful.”

“What’s so awful?”

“That we feel uglier because we are uglier.”

“We’re not ugly,” Lenora said, a wound in her voice. “And maybe those guys aren’t either. It was just a shock . Their faces looked so different without the same fat there. Or with — you know— sudden fat.”

Hank laughed. “It didn’t just appear there.”

“Well that’s how it looks if you haven’t seen someone in a while. Like they just got hit with fat.”

They both laughed, then went quiet.

Hank looked up at the moon. He said, “What were you talking to John about?”

Lenora froze in profile. “Why?”

“Because you were talking to him all night.”

“So.”

“You know I hate that guy.”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“He’s a creep. And he’s a terrible writer.”

“I didn’t think his book was bad. It could be vastly corny at times but I thought the ending was very moving.”

“I didn’t get that far — I just didn’t believe it. He’s like Kevin Spacey doing Bobby Darin,” Hank huffed. “Some cheap commercial rendition of hipness.”

Lenora groaned.

“It’s okay for me to hate this person. You hate everyone.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. You only like him because I hate him. It’s a turn-on for both of you.”

“You’re really starting to sound crazy.”

“Right — because you’re such a cheerleader for sanity.”

“Why would I hit on someone in front of you?”

“I don’t know. There’s obviously something wrong with you.” Hank faced the window once more, the harsh red light of surrounding cars cast over him.

“Well you were glued to what’s-her-face all night. The one with the tits,” Lenora hissed.

“You know her name.” He turned to see her expression but she was facing the window, arms crossed. “I like her,” he said. “She’s nice.”

“That’s her thing. I’m nice! But really she’s just boring.”

Hank laughed in spite of himself.

“And she looks like a fetus,” Lenora said. “I mean pretty but…”

“Unformed?” he offered.

“ Yes. Not fully formed.”

“That’s the thing about fetuses.”

• • •

Once home they stripped down to their underwear and climbed into bed. Hank stared sideward at the freckled contours of her body, the red spoon glowing somewhere under her lacy black bra.

She lay there like paradise itself, he thought. An island all her own. He rolled on his side and thought maybe the trouble with paradise was tasting it. Maybe he could only touch the door — crouch before it and wait. Maybe it was waiting that he loved — not Lenora.

The thought took shape and died in a matter of seconds. I don’t like waiting , he decided. I don’t like staring this way — like a man in a museum .

The woman he loved was the one who loved him back, the one who had been wild for him.

Hank scratched his stubbly chin, then gazed at Lenora’s arm — hating its beauty.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Do you need to penetrate my mind every second? I’m having idle goddamn thoughts.”

Hank looked away. “Did you tell anyone what you’re doing?”

“What?”

“The book.”

“What about it?”

“Do they know you’re stealing some poor woman’s life?”

Lenora looked hurt for a second. It made her prettier. “Is that really what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes.” He blinked at the white wall. “You’re stealing her hell.” He shook his head. “Because you’ve never been to hell — you wouldn’t know how to describe it.”

“I don’t know. This feels a little like hell.”

Hank imagined throwing something at the wall. Like a lamp or a chair. Just to change the look on her face. “You think you’re so smart,” he said.

“You think you’re so moral .”

“Does that woman know you’ll disappear the second the book is done? Did you tell her that?”

“That woman’s name is Angie. And who says I’ll stop seeing her?”

“I know you.” He trained his eyes on her. “You’re a vampire.” He went on staring, coating her with disgust. “It’s why your books are so good — they’re full of actual lives.”

Lenora dropped her chin, stared at her legs.

Helplessly Hank joined her there.

“Do you think we love each other?” she asked.

He stiffened. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because I wonder.”

“You wonder ? But I say it all the time.” He shook his head. “You mean do you love me . That’s what you fucking wonder.”

“I wonder about you too. You say it so much — like compulsively. You need it.” Her gaze zapped coolly around the room. “That’s not love.”