A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That Read online

  A spray of water splashed into the boat when he reached down to pick up the long oar for the first time, and it was Daniel’s muscled arms she noticed then. He said, “If you two want me to sing, let me know. I do Italian ballads. I’d be happy to sing to you both.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Jack answered without turning around. He reached into the basket and pulled a piece of bread from the loaf. It seemed to Ella that her husband was tearing the bread harder than necessary, with a gusto that seemed strained and overdone.

  The houses along the canal were unique, no two of them alike. One with pillars. One with an outdoor spiral staircase. A redbrick beauty to Ella’s right, and to her left a modern structure made up primarily of windows. There were Victorians and A-frames, a three-story magnificent construction beside a humble duplex. There were lights going on in kitchens and dining rooms, people sitting down to dinner with family. Daniel slowed down at a particular house, a two-story Victorian with a large doll propped up in the second-story window. The doll, which at first Ella had mistaken for a little girl, must have been over three feet tall. “When I was a kid, dolls like that scared me,” she said to Jack.

  “She’s a doll?”

  “Look how still she is. Look at her blank face.”

  “I recognize you from the University,” Daniel said.

  “Yes” Ella said. “I’ve seen you around. You an English major?”

  “Double major, English and marketing.”

  “Smart,” she said. “Someone literate who might also get a good job.” Ella pulled the blanket over her knees and leaned into Jack, who was leaning in the opposite direction, moving toward the wine. Their shoulders gently collided, and then he was leaning forward and she was leaning back into the spot where his body had been. Jack uncorked the bottle, set two glasses on the ledge in front of them, and began pouring. He handed Ella the fuller glass of the two. “Merlot,” he said, “your favorite.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. “I recognize you too,” she said to Daniel, half turning around.

  “You re Ella Bloom, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The poet,” Daniel said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Ella said.

  Jack leaned into her, and she felt his whole body stiffen, go rigid beside her. “I’m Mr. Bloom,” he said, over his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Nothing,” he said, reaching into the basket once more for a slice of salami. “He called you the poet. He knows your name,” Jack said quietly.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  “I get around.”

  Ella laughed. “I’m sure,” she said, “but I don’t.”

  The gondolier laughed with her. “You’ve got Rachel Spark for poetry.”

  Now she turned around completely. Daniel’s lips were red like his cheeks. His dark hair was wavy, hanging out from under the beret. He noticed her looking and reached up to adjust the hat. “Are you in that class?” she asked him.

  “Just transferred out. A business class I had to make up was only offered on Monday nights. Barely missed the deadline.”

  “Too bad,” she said. “Rachel is great.”

  “I’ve had other classes with her. I’m going to take her again, too.”

  “You should.”

  “I sat in the middle row, behind you. I saw the back of you,” Daniel said, “so this is a view I recognize.”

  Jack turned around abruptly and looked at the gondolier. “Look, Danny,” he said.

  “Name’s Daniel.”

  “Look, Daniel, how long have you been doing this?” Jack asked.

  “Three months, Mr. Bloom.”

  “Yes, well,” Jack said. “Sometimes people want to be alone, you know?”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s supposed to be romantic,” Jack said.

  “I get it.”

  “Come on,” Ella said to Jack. “Relax. He’s just being friendly.”

  “Friendly, huh?”

  “Yes—he’s being polite, that’s all. Let the guy sing, Jack. I wouldn’t mind hearing a song,” she said.

  “How about one of those songs?” Jack said to Daniel. “And don’t sing too loudly, please. I want to be with my wife here, you know what I mean? We’re married. This poet here is my wife.”

  “Maybe later” the gondolier said. “I don’t feel like singing now.”

  “Don’t sing then,” Jack snapped.

  “I won’t,” Daniel said.

  The sky was orange and pink and gray, the sun falling between two fat clouds. Seagulls shrieked above them. A man and his small son stood by the rocks, holding hands. The boy had a kite shaped like a spider under one arm. “Hey Jerry, hey Ray,” Daniel said.

  “How’s it going, Daniel?” the man said.

  “Been better,” the gondolier answered.

  Ella nudged Jack. “Be nice,” she said. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “What did I do?” Jack whispered. “It’s Danny who’s rude.”

  “Isn’t this boat ride supposed to be for me? I thought you were sorry,” she said.

  “One thing doesn’t have to do with the other,” he said.

  “I think it does,” she said.

  Daniel, who had refused to sing, was now humming instead, and his humming and the wine and the water and the sound of the oar hitting it was, despite Jack and the gondolier’s testy interaction, lulling Ella, calming her down. She was feeling the wine and she was feeling noticed, her whole body going slack against Jack’s tension.

  A pair of black ducks followed the gondola and came up beside her. She tossed them chunks of bread. “Aren’t you sweeties,” she said to the ducks. “Aren’t you little midnight sweeties?”

  Twenty minutes into the ride and Daniel hadn’t said a word to them since Jack shushed him. Ella’s husband tried to kiss her under every bridge. Her cheek was what she gave him when he came in for the first few kisses, but finally, under bridge number four, she gave him her lips. The bottle was empty at their feet. She tasted the salami on Jack’s lips. She felt his regret. She believed he was sorry, that he loved her. They were drunk.

  “I wonder if couples ever fight out here?” Ella said to Jack.

  “We almost did” Jack said.

  “I mean really fight—have a rotten time. Do you think it’s possible?” she said, snuggling into him.

  “Ask Daniel,” Jack said, finally loosening up. “If you want to know, ask him.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Daniel,” Jack said, “you still mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you,” Daniel said. “If you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to. We don’t have to be friends.”

  “Let’s be friends,” Jack said. “You want to be friends with us?”

  “I’ve got friends.”

  “Can I ask you a question anyway?”

  “It’s your ride,” the boy said.

  “Ella’s wondering if you’ve ever seen a couple fight out here?”

  “Once.”

  “What happened?” Ella asked.

  “An older guy was opening a bottle of champagne and accidentally hit his wife in the face with the cork. The wife was pissed, screaming and shouting, calling him an asshole.”

  “Did he hit her in the eye?” Ella wanted to know.

  “The cheek.”

  “It must have hurt,” she said.

  “The wife wanted me to turn the boat around and give them their money back. I think it was their tenth anniversary or something.”

  “She just flipped out, obviously,” Jack said.

  “Please,” Ella said.

  “I felt sorry for the guy, but for her too. Her face was all blotchy—it looked like he hit her.”

  “Maybe they had other problems too,” Jack said.

  “Maybe so,” Daniel said. Apparently the boy wanted to talk, now that the dock was in sight. It was dark and the birds were quiet, lights on in every home a
nd window they passed. “Once, a couple did the opposite.”

  “What’s the opposite?” Jack said.

  “They were kissing under the bridges, like you’re supposed to, like you two have been doing, and then we came out the other side and the guy’s head was gone.”

  “Was he going down on her?” Jack wanted to know.

  “At first I thought he lost something, his wallet or his keys, and was searching the floor. Then I saw his head move under the blanket. It was pretty raunchy.”

  “Enough about cunnilingus,” Ella said, both annoyed and flushed.

  “Cunna what?” the gondolier said.

  “Hey,” Jack said, “I thought you went to college, Danny. Don’t you go to college?”

  “I go to college,” the gondolier said, steering into the dock. “And the name’s Daniel.”

  8.

  When Ella’s poetry teacher, Rachel Spark, showed up at the clinic, Ella hid her face behind a clipboard, mouthing at Sarah, “That one is yours.”

  “Where?” she said. “Who?”

  “That one over there,” Ella said, pointing.

  “The young girl?”

  “No, the woman beside her. Dark hair, black blouse.”

  “Oh, the lady.”

  “The woman,” Ella said. “No one says ‘lady’ anymore, Sarah. A woman, okay? And I know her.”

  “Sorry,” she said, “but I’m off. My shift is over.” Sarah took off the white jacket, placed it over her arm, and gave Ella a mousy look. “Sorry,” she said again. “I’ve got to go,” she said.

  “Fine. Whatever,” Ella said, sounding more like Georgia Carter than herself. She turned her back on Sarah and reluctantly slid the little window open. She paused a moment before popping her head out. “Rachel,” Ella called, “I’ve got some paperwork for you.”

  Rachel rose from the couch and straightened her skirt. She picked up her purse, swung it over her shoulder, and came up to the window. She looked at Ella’s face and her eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me you work here,” she snapped.

  “You didn’t ask, Dr. Spark.”

  “I’m not a doctor. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a doctor?” She leaned toward the window, whispering harshly.

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said.

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “Whatever goes on here is confidential. I’m a professional,” Ella continued.

  “I want to go to sleep,” Rachel said.

  “What?”

  “For the procedure, I want to be put out.”

  “Of course,” Ella said. “And it’s confidential,” she repeated.

  “Good,” Rachel said. “Give me whatever it is that you want me to sign.”

  9.

  It was Friday night, and moments earlier a woman was hit by a car in front of their apartment building. Jack told Ella that at first he thought the woman was pushing a baby in a stroller, but when the baby popped out of the stroller and landed in the bushes, yelping, he realized it was a little dog. “It’s a dog,” Jack said, excited. “It flew out of there like popcorn.” The dog was blond and fluffy. He looked well taken care of, Jack told her.

  On the balcony in his bathrobe, Jack watched the scene and reported it to Ella. She was sitting on the couch in her nightgown and slippers, drinking a cup of tea and reading Diane Ackerman’s A Natural History of Love. Although she didn’t mind hearing Jack’s rendition of the scene outside, Ella didn’t want to witness the mess first hand.

  “She’s not that bad” Jack said. “She’s standing up. She’s gesturing to the police.” Jack waved his arms around, imitating the woman.

  “I want to finish this chapter on cheaters,” Ella said.

  “Cheaters?”

  “Adulterers.”

  “Great,” he said, sarcastically.

  Moments later Jack had quieted down, which made Ella feel left out; she wanted to know what was happening. She thought about getting up off the couch and joining him but decided against it. “What’s going on now?” she asked.

  “The woman is scratched up,” he told her. “A gash on her cheek, and her shoulder looks fucked up too.”

  “Is she old?”

  “At least fifty—maybe older.”

  “Did you know” Ella said, “that seventy-two percent of American men say they’ve been unfaithful and fifty-four percent of American women?”

  “Put down the book, Ella—come outside.”

  “That number seems pretty high. Don’t you think that’s a pretty high number?”

  “What do you want me to do?” he said.

  “You’re not alone. That’s all I’m saying. Most people behave like you behave.”

  “Stop it,” he said. “Come out here with me.”

  “It’s not exactly a romantic scene. Wait until they take the woman away and clean up the mess.”

  “What mess? There’s no mess. Come out here,” he said again.

  “Let me finish this.”

  “She’s up and walking,” he said. “She’s talking. They’re helping her onto a stretcher.”

  They lived on the second floor of a high-rise. The building was on the ocean. If Ella went down into the garage and walked out the door to her left, she’d be on the sand. People who paid more rent had balconies that faced the sea. Their balcony faced the street.

  It was a busy boulevard, with cars and trucks, apartment buildings and old houses too, with palm trees and crazy black birds that flew from ledge to porch to branch. Sometimes those birds appeared out of nowhere, moving abruptly in flocks. Ella would be on the balcony writing a poem or watering the ferns, and the sound of their many wings going all at once would startle her.

  In the two years they’d lived there, three women were hit by cars—not one man that they knew of or had heard about. There had been over a dozen small accidents. Once, making love, they were interrupted by the sudden sound of screeching tires and metal crashing into metal, and Jack had jumped up to look, which is something she wouldn’t forget.

  “The woman is gone now,” Jack said. “Listen to the sirens. They’re taking her away.”

  “I want to finish this chapter,” Ella said.

  “They’re checking to see if the driver is drunk. Don’t you want to watch him try to touch his nose? It’ll be fun,” Jack said.

  Ella put down the book and picked up her robe. She hung the robe over her shoulders without putting it on and joined Jack on the balcony. “Did you know that the average man’s ejaculate contains only five calories and is mainly protein?” she asked.

  “I knew about it being protein.”

  Ella wanted to be outside with Jack but didn’t want to get too close. She brushed off a chair with her hand and sat down. “I always thought it had more calories than that,” she said.

  “What else are you learning in that book?”

  “There’s two hundred million sperm in one orgasm. And a guy’s come shoots out at twenty-eight miles per hour.”

  Jack looked out at the street. “Just about the speed limit here,” he said. They were quiet for a moment. “Don’t you want to put on your robe? It’s cold,” Jack finally said.

  Ella shook her head. “My teacher came to the clinic this week,” she told him.

  “Which one?” Jack rested his elbow on the railing and turned to her.

  “Rachel Spark.”

  “The poetry teacher?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she come for herself or with someone else?”

  “Herself,” she said. “She was pregnant.”

  “Was?”

  “Actually, she still is.”

  “She’s going through with it?”

  “No—Dr. Wheeler tried to give her an abortion, but it didn’t work. He was afraid her pregnancy might be tubal. We sent her to another clinic.”

  He turned back to the street. “That must have been weird for her, seeing you there.”

  “She wasn’t happy.”

  “Come closer, Ella. Sta
nd up. That chair is dirty.” He motioned to it and made a face.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Let me help you put the robe on.”

  “I’m okay,” she said again.

  “I want to be near you. I want to keep you warm.”

  “I know,” she said, “but I’m fine. Comfortable. I’ll sit here and you tell me what’s happening in the street.”

  “I thought you were going to try,” he said.

  “I’m out here, aren’t I?”

  Jack sighed. “What else does it say in that book? What about marriage?”

  “The first marriages happened by capture. When a man saw a woman he wanted, he took her by force. Sometimes he got a buddy to help him.”

  “The best man.”

  “Do you feel captured?”

  He shook his head no. “I captured you,” he said. “I might have behaved like that seventy-two percent, but that’s because I was weak, not because I don’t love you.”

  Ella stood up and walked toward him. She let him help her into the robe and stood beside him by the railing, looking out. The streetlights were orange—the one directly in front of them blinked on and off, obviously ready to give up completely. It cast a glowing circle on the sidewalk, and then the circle disappeared. Several couples and a small group of people were gathered, watching the man try to touch his nose. A woman stood by a fire hydrant with three big dogs on leashes.

  “Those dogs must outweigh her,” Jack said.

  “You didn’t capture me,” Ella said.

  He shrugged, gave her a small smile, and they stood there a moment, looking at the man. He was walking a perfect line. “Look,” Jack said, “the guy’s not drunk. He’s just a bad driver.”

  10.

  Ella had been trying to make things work with Jack for four months when Georgia came to her with condyloma. It was April and raining, the fat drops pounding the roof of the clinic.

  Earlier, driving to work, Ella almost hit a pair of schoolgirls. They were holding hands, stepping off the curb and into the street, shiny lunch pails at their sides. They were walking against the light, and Ella wondered where their mothers were, why they weren’t taking these girls to school. Ella swerved and one girl dropped her lunch pail, which Ella heard crunch under her tires.

  She pulled over to the curb, stopped the car and got out. The girl was crying, staring into the street at her smashed lunch pail and sandwich. Her apple had rolled into the gutter. “Here” Ella said, opening her wallet, “here’s some money.” She’d planned to give the child a five but could only find a twenty, so she gave the girl that. “Buy yourself lunch,” she said. “Don’t cry. Look, here’s twenty dollars.”