Gail,’ Tully said. ‘Is he in love with her?’
‘Tully, she’s seventeen and I think she kind of loves him.’
‘Yeah, so? I’m seventeen, too. Besides,’ she added, ‘I’m not responsible that he calls me up.’
‘That he calls me up,’ Jennifer corrected her, smiling at the phone.
Jen arranged to pick Tully up in her new Camaro and drive her over to The Village Inn, the popular hamburger place on Topeka Boulevard, where Robin would meet them. Then she called Robin to tell him the plan. Jennifer thought that Robin seemed pleased with that, and this struck her as odd because she always perceived Robin as unemotional. He must like Tully, thought Jennifer.
‘Is there anything I should know about her?’ Robin asked Jennifer.
Well, there are a lot of things you should know about her, thought Jennifer, but right now, I really want to get off the phone.
‘Yeah, she is not much into talking.’
‘She and you both. What’s she into?’
A different kind of communication, Jennifer thought. Tactile communication.
‘Into? Dancing,’ Jen replied. ‘Music. National Geographic. Books.’
No one knew Tully better than Jennifer, no one knew Tully on such personal terms, but even Jennifer was hard-pressed to define what Tully was into, or what was into Tully. When she was twelve, Jennifer overheard her mother and father discussing adopting Tully; she wished she could have heard that conversation better, but the words were big and vague. Something about Wichita, something about foster care. Then Tully more or less dropped out of Jennifer’s and Julie’s life. Oh, Tully came over, ate dinner, did some homework, talked, watched TV.
But it was all pretend. Like the games they used to play when they were children. Pretend. Tully was a Stepford Tully during 1975, 1976, 1977. Jennifer knew only a bare skeleton of Tully’s life during the years Tully was dancing and getting into dance clubs with her fake ID.
In 1977, things got a little better. Tully showed Jennifer the ID. ‘Natalie Anne Makker,’ it read. ‘Female, 5’6”, 105 pounds, gray eyes, blonde hair, b. January 19, 1955.’ Jennifer had been shocked at how Tully looked in the photo, done up so old. Tully made herself to look six years older, but she might as well have made her lie be sixteen years or sixty, so large had been the chasm separating Tully from Jennifer. And even after 1977. They didn’t play softball anymore, Tully and Jen.
‘Yeah, Tully is really not much into all that verbal stuff,’ Jennifer finished.
‘Ahhh, a girl after my own heart,’ said Robin, hanging up.
Afterwards, Jennifer sat back on her bed and did not move for an hour until it was time to go pick up Tully in her new Camaro.
‘Nice car, Jen,’ Tully said, getting in. ‘Now you can drive us all to school.’
‘Makker, Julie and I walk to school. And I’m not driving every morning to pick your ass up from the boondocks of town, that’s for sure.’
‘Oh, yes, you are, Mandolini,’ said Tully. ‘You got nowhere else to go but to pick me up.’
‘I got plenty of places,’ said Jennifer.
‘Yeah? Name one. Admit it, you don’t really need this car.’
‘I admit it,’ said Jennifer. ‘But Makker, whether I need it or not, you are not getting this car, not even for five minutes. Absolutely not.’
‘I don’t want this silly car,’ said Tully, smiling and touching Jennifer’s hair. ‘I just want you to teach me how to drive.’
At The Village Inn, Robin sat down across from Tully. Or rather, Tully sat down across from Robin. Tully looked entirely different from last night, looking more as she did when she first arrived at Jen’s: no makeup. She was wearing old faded jeans and a HAVE FUN! IT’S TOPEKA! sweatshirt. Her eyes were sweet and gray and she had large blue bags under them. Her nose was a little misshapen and her mouth was pale. She had short, kinky hair. She didn’t look like a party girl, she didn’t look scary, she didn’t look much like anything, but as Robin sat and watched her dig into her burger and talk to him, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met.
‘Why did you tell me I could come to your mother’s house?’ he asked her.
She flashed him a smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’ Beaming at the waiter, Tully ordered black coffee and lemon meringue pie.
‘You really transform yourself for a party, don’t you?’ Robin said.
‘What’s the matter? Regret you came today?’ Tully asked.
He shook his head quickly. Gray is not an especially warm color, he thought, never having seen gray eyes before. ‘No, you look better now, but different.’
They sat and talked for an hour.
‘What do you do, Robin?’ Tully asked him. ‘With yourself? When you’re not accompanying high school seniors to parties?’
‘I work for my dad,’ he told her. ‘DeMarco & Sons. Fine men’s clothing.’
‘In Manhattan?’ Tully seemed surprised. ‘Is there a market for that sort of thing out there?’
Robin shrugged. ‘We have no competition. It’s not bad.’
‘Well, that explains why you’re so well dressed,’ said Tully, smiling lightly.
As Tully talked, she gestured with her hands, which reminded Robin of his profoundly gesticulate family, and he found her hand motions very Italian and very endearing. They were having a good time. She was funny, nonthreatening, and, well, seemed entirely normal to him. They both smoked. He lit her cigarette for her, and she stared into his face as she inhaled.
But while Tully was holding up her hands – thin, white, and thoroughly pleasing – to imitate a friend of hers during a police raid on a dance club, Robin saw her wrists. On both her wrists, very close to her palms, he saw two horizontal scars, jagged and dark pink, scars about an inch long. He inhaled sharply. She stopped talking and looked at him; Robin could only imagine what his expression looked like to her – fear? pity? more fear? How often had she seen these expressions on the faces of men who encountered her and those wrists of hers? All that mixed with lust and tenderness. How often?
Instantly, her demeanor changed. She wasn’t animated anymore, and her eyes were cold.
To sit and say nothing seemed somehow unthinkable, somehow worse than acknowledgment, so Robin steadied himself and acknowledged Tully. Touching her sleeve, he said, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m great.’
Robin looked at her wrists, and so did she. ‘Oh, these,’ Tully said. ‘I cut myself shaving.’
‘Oh,’ Robin said, letting
