Girl Parts (17 page)

Rose stared at the television. Pain coiled in her brain, rolling over itself, twisting. She imagined the man from her nightmare opening up her skull and removing it, the dangling, deadly arrow, now kinked and knotted, a confused useless tangle.

“Where did you say this place was?”

Rebecca’s cell phone began to chirp.

“That’s my alarm. I guess I should get you back, huh?” She stretched her arms and brought her index fingers to
her nose. She did this several times and nodded. This was how Rebecca recalibrated, Rose guessed.

“Sober enough,” she said. “Let’s go!”

When Charlie returned the Sakora catalog, Dr. Roger had asked that he come back every two weeks for a “friendly check-in.” The mandatory chats were at two thirty.

“Mr. Nuvola, come in.” Charlie took his place in the big chair. “You’re looking . . . well.”

Charlie looked like he hadn’t slept in days, the puffy bags visible beneath the rims of his glasses. Dr. Roger didn’t look so hot either. His normally oily skin was the color of ash. He reached for a glass of water and knocked it to the carpet. A little robovac skittered from under the desk to suck up the moisture.

Dr. Roger retrieved the fallen glass and refilled it from the pitcher on his desk.

“So, how are things?”

“Not bad.”

“Make any new friends this month?”

Charlie shook his head. “No.”

“Come now, Chuck. There must be
something.
”

Dr. Roger’s unctuous baritone was thinner, more strained than usual. His posture was too stiff, not his usual bored slouch. He clutched his glass, spilling droplets on the carpet. The robovac hummed happily as it sucked them up.

“Are you having second thoughts about the Companion Program?”

A dry chuckle rattled in Charlie’s throat. “Not really. It didn’t . . .” He stopped himself.

Dr. Roger arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t what?”

Charlie swallowed. “Well, it didn’t work out too well for David Sun. That’s the rumor, anyway.”

Dr. Roger pursed his lips. “Yes, I heard about that. I’m sure instances of patient dissatisfaction are rare.”

“Doesn’t sound rare to me,” Charlie said.

“What do you mean?”

“Human beings cheat and lie. Sounds like she was just acting like a human being.”

“I see.” Dr. Roger took a sip of water. The robovac whirred like a pet waiting for a treat. “And what about you? Any women in your life?”

Charlie had given Dr. Roger only cursory details of his date with Rebecca and had received the “other fish in the sea” lecture in return.

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Charlie coughed into his fist. “Why?”

Dr. Roger shrugged. “You just seem to have a spring in your step this afternoon. I thought maybe . . . but if you say there isn’t anybody . . .”

“There isn’t,” Charlie said, adding after a moment, “I wish there was, you know? But there’s not. Not right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, what have you been up to, then? For instance, last night? What did you do?”

“Last night?”

“Yes. For example.”

Charlie’s eyes followed the robovac. “I was at home.”

“You didn’t go out at all? Not on one of your nature walks?”

Charlie coughed again. And then again. “The air is really dry in here.”

“I’m sorry. Would you like a glass of water?”

“Please.” Dr. Roger filled the second tumbler and handed it to Charlie. “Thanks.”

“Anything to make you comfortable.” His eyes narrowed. “You know how much my patients mean to me.”

“Right. So, anyway . . .” Charlie let his glass rest on the arm of the chair. There was a zipping sound as it slid off the leather, followed by a sharp crunch. The robovac scurried from under Dr. Roger’s chair. Dr. Roger lunged for it, but Charlie had the longer reach. He snatched up the robovac, the tiny wheels spinning helplessly. He turned it over. Next to the serial number was an insignia. A tiny pink blossom. The central stigma was a small mesh like a speaker. But no, Charlie realized. Not a speaker. A microphone.

Charlie and Dr. Roger locked eyes. They were posed like wrestlers, half standing, only five feet of Persian rug between them.

“I thought these sessions were private.”

“They are private,” Dr. Roger snapped. “I’m just doing my job, Charlie.”

“I thought your job was to help students.”

“Students don’t pay.” Dr. Roger’s voice was a growl. “Who do you think pays for your therapy, Charlie?”

“I thought it was the school.” He wanted to sound brave, but his voice quavered. The hand holding the robovac trembled.

“Charlie . . .”

“You gave me the catalog. You probably gave David Sun his. What, do you just go from school to school as Sakora’s front man?”

“Charlie . . .” Dr. Roger said again, with something new in his tone. Fear. “It’s not like that. I don’t work for Sakora, but I agree with their methods, and sometimes doctors and companies can work together.” He interlaced his fingers. “I know the lines are a little blurry, but let’s just talk about this.”

Charlie wanted to say something defiant. He wanted the last word. But he was too scared. He’d never faced down an adult. So he ran. He tossed the robovac and ran for the door, down the hall, and out into the gray afternoon.

He looked over his shoulder a hundred times on the way to the campsite, his bike wobbling on the wet roads. Cars roared past, spraying dingy road water. Charlie imagined black-suited Sakora agents, ready to reach out and grab him. He didn’t slow down until he reached Cliff Road
and the stand of trees marking the entrance to the dirt path.

There was a rusted Caddy by the campsite. Charlie came to the edge of the pit. Someone was there, text-messaging. Her face was hidden by a curtain of ink-colored hair, but he recognized her.

“Hello.”

Rebecca looked up and gasped. “You scared me.”

Charlie walked down to meet her. “Hi, Rebecca.”

She stood, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Hi, Charlie.”

“Don’t you have rehearsals in the afternoon?”

“I quit the play.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes met his. “Oh, Charlie. You shouldn’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. I was such a jackass, a total pretentious bitch, but it’s only because I wanted to impress you.” The words rushed out of her, the pressure of days finally released. “Because you’re obviously really smart and know science and I’m just a stupid actress with big boobs. But of course you thought I was a total jackass, and I was a jackass. I am a jackass. And I’m just so, so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said again, staring at the ground.

“I actually meant about quitting the play,” Charlie said.

She covered her face in her hands. “Right. Of course.”

Silence. Charlie felt himself closing up. He willed himself to say something. Anything. The first thing that came to his mind.

“Rebecca, I think you’re . . .”

“Charlie.”

Rose appeared at the top of the stairs, the wind whipping her hair into dancing flames of red. Charlie and Rebecca glanced at each other. Rebecca’s smile vanished.

“Oh,” she said. “I guess you two are together, huh?”

Rose hurried down the stairs, grinning. “It’s so good to see you.” She wrapped her arms around him, but Charlie didn’t move. Rose backed away. “What’s wrong?”

“Could I, um, talk to Rose for a second?” he said to Rebecca.

She nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’m sure you two want to be alone.”

“I need to talk to you too,” he managed. “If you don’t mind waiting.”

Rebecca’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Um, no. I don’t mind.”

She climbed the stairs, looking back twice before disappearing above the ledge.

“Do you know her?” Rose said.

“She’s just someone I need to talk to.” He stared at the spot where Rebecca had been.

“She’s lovely.”

Charlie’s eyes hardened. He faced her. “Did you cheat on David?”

Rose flinched. “What?”

“Did David leave you because you cheated on him?”

“Did you see him? Did he tell you that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie exploded. “You just forgot that little detail? And here I am helping, getting in trouble for you . . . and for who? Who are you really? A cheater?”

“No!” Rose said, her eyes brimming with tears. “How could you think that?” She wiped her eyes furiously. “Damn it! Why am I crying? Why is it always me that cries? Why don’t boys ever cry?”

“Oh, stop it. You can probably turn them on like a switch.”

Rose’s hands fell limp to her sides. “Oh. I see now.”

“What?”

“You’re like him. You’re just like him. Is that the way it is with boys and girls?”

Charlie’s cheeks grew hot. “Is what the way it is?”

“Boys make the rules. They do what they want, when they want, and the girls just have to be perfect. And if the girls aren’t perfect, too bad. They can just be alone. And be lonely. Do you know how awful
lonely
is?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I
do
know.” He clenched his jaw. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Come on.” He grabbed her roughly by the arm. “We have to get out of here. We —”

There was a sharp crack, like a branch breaking. Charlie felt a flash of pain across his cheek. He put his hand to his face — the skin was hot. He gaped at her. Rose stared back, her eyes scared but focused. She’d slapped him. She’d slapped him in the face.

“Don’t grab me,” she said. He released her arm. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, but you can’t grab me like that.”

“OK,” Charlie whispered.

“I’m
not
your Companion.”

“I know.”

They were silent. Leaves rustled at their feet. The sting in his cheek felt almost numbing.

Rose sniffed. “I’m not a cheater, either.”

“OK,” said Charlie. “I don’t . . . most people you can’t . . .
I
can’t trust people, usually. I’d like to trust you.”

“I don’t lie. And I didn’t cheat. But I can’t tell you what happened.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t like me anymore,” she said. “And you’ll throw me away.”

“I wouldn’t ever do that,” he said.

Rose sighed, her breath shuttering. “Companions don’t have girl parts. You can’t have sex with me, Charlie.”

Charlie blinked. “I . . . who said I wanted to have sex with you?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

He laughed weakly. “Well, maybe, but I mean, we’re friends first.”

Rose didn’t reply.

“I like you,” he said.

“But I’m incomplete,” she said, “and not very sweet anymore. I used to be sweet, at least. I don’t know what happened.”

“Sweet is nice, but . . .” Charlie laughed again. “You’re real.”

Rose smiled through her tears. “I thought you were going to say sour.” Her smile faded. “I can’t get him out of my head, Charlie.”

“So, what do we do?”

“I have an idea,” she said, sniffing. “But I’m going to need your help.”

Rebecca sat on the hood of her car, humming tunelessly to her iPod. When she saw Charlie, she took out her earbuds.

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Could you give us a ride?” he asked.

Rebecca piloted the old Cadillac onto Route 290. The late-day traffic was heavy with commuters. The sun blazed behind them, casting a diamond gleam on the city’s two skyscrapers.

Charlie closed Rebecca’s cell phone and handed it back.

“Well? Did Paul give you the address?”

“Yeah. It’s on Water Street. Ten minutes from here.” Charlie fiddled with his door lock.

“Could you not do that, please?”

“Sorry.”

He looked over his shoulder at Rose, who stared out the window, her expression unreadable. He began fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket.

“You’re jumpy.”

“It’s been a weird few days.”

“You’d never know she wasn’t real,” Rebecca said quietly. “Or, I mean, not human.”

Charlie nodded.

“Paul’s isn’t like her at all.”

“She’s been through a lot,” said Charlie.

“Yeah.”

Rebecca pulled off at Water Street, onto the dusty, vacant back alleys. Newspapers shuffled down the street like tumbleweeds. They passed unfriendly doorways and dark foyers, peeling stucco and brick facades, heavily curtained windows and signs for bread companies and hot-dog stands long gone.

“Seven-fifty and a half,” Charlie said. “This is it.”

Rebecca pulled to the curb.

The building was rail-thin and dilapidated, taking up one half of an overgrown lot between two large warehouses.

“Rose?”

Rose snapped out of her reverie. “Oh. Thank you, Rebecca.”

“Any time, babe.” She smiled warmly in the mirror. “Call me, OK? We’ll hang out again.”

“I’d like that.”

Rose got out. Charlie cleared his throat.

They spoke in unison:

“Listen . . .”

“Look . . .”

“We didn’t get a chance to talk,” Charlie pushed on. “I’m not very good at talking to girls.”

“You can talk to Rose.”

“She’s like . . . the only friend I have,” said Charlie. “Lame, huh?”

“Well, you should have at least two.” He looked at her over his glasses, and she smiled. “Call me, OK?”

“I will.”

“Promise.”