Tangerine(11)

I felt myself blush, felt tiny pinpricks of anger, of resentment, hot against my skin.

“But then, surely it is a sensitive subject?” I pressed, referring to John’s previous slight at Alice. And before I could think better of it, before I could stop myself, I said, “We are talking about the oppressor and the oppressed, aren’t we? What topic could be more sensitive than that?”

At my words, there was something mean that flashed there, in his sharp little eyes, so that I wondered what it was that he would say in response to my comment. But then it was gone, vanished, before I could fully say whether I had truly seen it to begin with. “Ah,” he said. “I see it now. You’re one of those women.”

I held my face intentionally still. “Those women?”

“You know, those women,” he said, taking a loud sip from his drink. “Out of the kitchen, and all that.”

“John, don’t,” Alice said, looking miserable. Her voice was tight and strained, her face paled a shade or two.

“Don’t what?” He laughed. “I’m just making an observation, that’s all.”

“Yes, well,” I said, pausing to take a drink now myself. “I suppose your observation is correct. I am one of those women—out of the kitchen and all that.” I smiled, refusing to cower.

“Ah,” John cried, giving his leg a quick slap. “You see?” he asked, turning to Alice. “I was right.”

“Yes,” she responded, not meeting his eye.

I leaned forward. “So it’s really happening, then?” I asked, anxious to leave the subject behind. “Independence, I mean.”

John nodded, apparently content, or so it seemed, to move on as well. “Oh, yes. It’s all been agreed already—the whole thing’s been set in motion. The French have already relinquished their hold on Morocco, which means the Spanish aren’t far behind. Tangier will most likely be next. It’s a good thing, as I said before. Independence is always good. But I suspect we’re all running on borrowed time here, as it were. Ticktock.” He took another sip of his drink. “Things will change for those of us who decide to stay behind.”

I frowned. “How so?”

He paused, looking at me as though he hadn’t quite understood the question. And then, with another slap on his knee, he exclaimed: “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

I nodded, taken aback. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

We lapsed into silence then, the three of us staring into our drinks, leaving me to wonder how this could be the man who had stolen Alice’s heart. I thought of the past, of all the plans that we had made, and wondered how it was possible that they had been exchanged for this, for him, though of course I knew it wasn’t as simple as that.

“So,” John’s voice rang out, startling us all out of our reveries. “Just how long is Lucy here for?”

“I haven’t quite decided,” I responded.

He nodded. “But what brings you to Tangier, of all places?”

“Travel, of course,” Alice answered quickly—too quickly, I couldn’t help but think. “Perhaps you could provide Lucy with some recommendations,” she said to John. She turned and looked at me, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of a tennis match, with that dizzying back-and-forth motion that always made my head ache. “If you wanted to see anything other than Tangier.”

I nodded but didn’t respond. Instead I found myself preoccupied with the idea that she had mentioned it—the possibility of other cities—only in order to get me out of the apartment, away from herself and John. Though to what end, I was uncertain.

“I prefer Tangier myself,” John said, though his interest seemed more directed toward the drink in his hand, which had since been refilled, although Alice and I remained on our first. “Most people will say Marrakech is the spot you should go to. Really, though, I don’t like it much myself past three or four nights. And you can’t stand even that, can you?” he asked without turning, though his question was obviously directed to Alice. “Chefchaouen is always worth a few days, and so is Casablanca, I suppose. I know a few who would swear that Fez is the best out of them all. The roadblocks can be a bit tiresome, of course, but once you show your papers, there’s never any trouble,” John continued. He paused, looking at me with a peculiar expression. “Are you really interested in any of this?”

“Of course,” I responded, though I wasn’t, not really. I had no intention of leaving Tangier anytime soon. My eyes moved between the two of them, the pair of them, and I decided that something was most certainly amiss—I could feel it, for it seemed to fill the very room around us, crackling and sizzling, calling out to be noticed. Watching her from the corner of my eye, I could not help but think how haunted she looked—a strange word, I knew, and yet it was the only one that seemed to apply. She was haunted by the ghost of her former self. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied. “But I think I’ll focus on Tangier for now.”

“A wise decision.” He nodded. “And where will you be staying, during your little holiday?”

I shifted, feeling, in that moment, Alice’s gaze upon me. “I’m not quite sure yet.”

“Well, then you’ll have to stay with us. We can’t have one of Alice’s friends staying in some suspect riad, not when we have an extra room here.” He gave Alice a slight shove. “Right, darling?”