Genuine Fraud(19)

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s just ugly. My dad’s brother is being a giant racist about the divorce. You wouldn’t believe what’s come out of his mouth. And so my mother is full of venom, frankly. She has a right to be, but it’s hellish to even talk to her on the phone. I don’t think there’s anything, really, to go back to.”

“What will you do?”

“Travel around some more. My friend will be ready to go in another couple weeks, and then we’ll backpack through Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam, same plan as before. Then to Hong Kong, and we’ll go see my grandmother in the Philippines.” He took Jule’s hand again. He ran his finger softly across her palm. “You’re not wearing your rings.” Her nails were painted with pale pink polish.

“Just the one.” Jule showed him her other hand, which had the jade viper on it. “The others all belonged to this friend of mine. I was only borrowing them.”

“I thought they were yours.”

“No. Yes. No.” Jule sighed.

“Which is it?”

“My friend killed herself not that long ago. We argued and she died angry at me.” Jule was telling the truth, and she was lying. Being with Paolo muddled her thinking. She knew she shouldn’t talk to him anymore. She could feel the stories she told herself and the stories she told others shifting around, overlapping, changing shades. She couldn’t tell, tonight, what the names of the stories were, what she meant and what she didn’t.

Paolo squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Jule blurted: “Tell me, do you think a person is as bad as her worst actions?”

“What?”

“Do you think a person is as bad as her worst actions?”

“You mean, will your friend go to hell because she killed herself?”

“No.” That wasn’t what Jule meant at all. “I mean, do our worst actions define us when we’re alive? Or do you think human beings are better than the very worst things we have ever done?”

Paolo thought. “Well, take Leontes in The Winter’s Tale. He tried to poison his friend, he threw his own wife in prison, and he abandoned his baby in the wilderness. So he’s the absolute worst. Right?”

“Right.”

“But in the end—have you seen it before tonight?”

“No.”

“At the end, he’s sorry. He’s just really, really sorry about everything, and that’s enough. Everyone forgives him. Shakespeare lets Leontes be redeemed even though he did all that evil stuff.”

Jule wanted to tell Paolo everything.

She wanted to reveal her past to him in its ugliness and beauty, its courage and complexity. She would be redeemed.

She could not speak.

“Ohhh,” said Paolo, drawing out the word. “We’re not talking about the play, are we?”

Jule shook her head.

“I’m not angry with you, Imogen,” said Paolo. “I am crazy about you.” He reached out and touched her cheek. Then he ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “I’m sure your friend isn’t still angry with you, either, whatever happened when she was alive. You’re a top-notch, excellent person. I can tell.”

They had reached the front of the line. “Two cups of tea,” Jule said to the lady at the counter. Her eyes leaked even though she was not crying. She had to stop being emotional.

“This seems like a dinner conversation,” said Paolo. He paid for the tea. “Do you want to get dinner after the play? Or bagels? I know a pub that serves real New York bagels.”

Jule knew she should say no, but she nodded.

“Bagels, good. So for now, let’s talk about cheerful things,” said Paolo. They brought their drinks in paper cups over to a stand with milk and coffee spoons. “I take two sugars and a giant glug of cream. How do you drink it?”

“With lemon,” Jule said. “I need like four slices of lemon for tea.”

“Okay, cheerful, distracting things,” Paolo said as they walked to a table. “Shall I talk about myself?”

“I don’t think anyone could stop you.”

He laughed. “When I was eight, I broke my ankle jumping off the roof of my uncle’s car. I had a dog named Twister and a hamster named St. George. I wanted to be a detective when I was a boy. I made myself sick from eating too many cherries once. And I haven’t been out with anyone since you told me not to call you.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Liar.”

“Not one single woman. I’m here tonight with Artie Thatcher.”

“The friend of your dad’s?”

“The one I’m staying with. He said I hadn’t seen London if I hadn’t seen the RSC. And you?”

Jule was brought back to reality.

She was here with Forrest.

It had been stupid, unthinkably stupid, to let Paolo derail her.

She had been leaving the theater. But then he’d brushed her cheek with his lips. He had touched her fingers. He noticed her hands and he’d said God, she was pretty. He’d said he wanted to call her every day.

Jule had missed Paolo very much.

But Forrest was here.

They couldn’t meet. Paolo must absolutely not see Forrest.