Shades of Grey (32 page)

‘Would she have to?’

‘Yeah, I think so. These books were a reaction against the so-called Age of Reason. They were a celebration of emotion, of the heart, of human nature. In some ways, the beginning of Romanticism, maybe even of feminism! So her crime is valuing something over loyalty and friendship. But what?’

‘Everybody has secrets, Dulcie.’ He paused and she remembered him coming out of the health services. ‘Everybody – and didn’t you say these books celebrate human nature? Maybe there was a guy they fought over in that missing part. Maybe she was driven by love?’

‘Who knows?’ It was no good. Even though Dulcie herself had wondered about Demetria’s suitors, the dearth of evidence was getting to her. Plus, she was beginning to get the nagging feeling that Chris – Suze’s intended – was flirting with her. ‘I’m just hoping I can make my case about the author’s use of characterization.’ What had seemed like a slam dunk only a few hours before was slipping out of reach.

‘You should trust yourself, Dulcie,’ Chris said, sounding surprisingly like Mr Grey. ‘Trust what you’ve found. Faint heart never fair thesis won, and all that. Or is Gilbert and Sullivan too modern for you?’

They both laughed, and Dulcie felt herself cheered. ‘Maybe that’ll make its way into my thesis.’

‘Glad to be of help, milady.’

After they hung up, Dulcie walked into the kitchen. The boarded-up window had been preying on her nerves, and at least from the kitchen she could look out at the street. Late summer, and the afternoon sun was just beginning to fade. Shadows stretched from the trees and street lights, and Dulcie stood there long enough to feel them approaching. She knew she could go for a walk, even see what was up with Helene and the kittens. But everything seemed like too much work. Times like this were when you needed a room-mate, someone to just sit with you when you needed company. Someone you could talk with, who would understand what made you tick.

Sort of like Chris did? The thought broke into her consciousness so unexpectedly that she turned around, looking for Mr Grey. But no, this one came from her own mind. Chris really had been there for her yesterday, too, first offering to help with her computer, then accompanying her home when she needed an escort. She shook her head. Two hours till Luke would pick her up for a real date. A Saturday night dinner. And here she was, thinking of – Chris?

And why not? Her own thoughts had begun to take on a Mr Grey-like opposition; phantom pet as devil’s advocate. Just because he’s not involved with someone else? ‘But I didn’t know Bruce was seeing Luisa.’ She spoke aloud. Or interested in anyone else?
‘I don’t know for sure if Luke likes Stacia.’ The voice ignored her. He’s tall. He’s smart. He’s not bad looking.
‘But he’s Suze’s. And I don’t want to be the Demetria in this drama.’ Saying it out loud didn’t help. She knew the truth: Suze didn’t want him.

So, does that decrease his value?
God, she was back to that again. She was ‘just a girl, a grad student, and ABD’. And Chris was just a . . . what? ‘A really nice guy, who’s smart and kind’. She envisioned his broad mouth – the way it wrinkled back up to his eyes when he smiled – and his thick, dark hair, the bangs that always fell into his face. ‘And, yeah, he’s cute, too.’

This time, she was sure she heard a purr.

It was with great confusion, therefore, that she heard the doorbell two hours later. She’d settled, finally and with no help from Suze, on a sundress that showed off her shoulders, but was still undecided between a jacket or a more informal wrap – one of Lucy’s knit jobs – in case of heavy air-conditioning. The bell rang again, and Dulcie grabbed the wrap. It wasn’t one of Lucy’s best, she’d run out of the cream wool halfway through and switched to a dark purple. But Dulcie felt defiant. ‘Some men seem to like me just as I am!’ With one last tug at her curls, she descended to the front door to meet her date.

An hour later, she was confused all over again, but not unhappy. Luke was, as he always had been, charming. He’d chosen the perfect spot: a Watertown bistro known for its good food and relaxed atmosphere, but not so expensive as to make Dulcie feel she was being bought.

‘So, what do you think of the wine?’ He’d poured the last of the rosé into her glass. ‘I’m game for another bottle. Or we can try something different.’

Dulcie sipped the light, fruity wine and tried to look serious. ‘Summery. Fresh.’ She licked her lips. ‘I’m getting a sense of strawberries and—’ She broke out in a laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I think I’ve probably had enough.’

‘Me, too, I guess.’ He refilled her water glass. ‘But some dessert might help soak it up!’

‘Well . . .’ She hesitated. Stacia did not have a roll around her middle.

‘Split something?’ He smiled a wicked smile. ‘I’ll take the half with the calories.’

‘You’re on! But, would you excuse me?’ Face flushed from the wine, Dulcie needed the walk as much as the restroom. What was going on here? Was he being so friendly because he didn’t see her as a romantic option? That line about calories had a buddy-buddy feel to it. Or was he just so sure of her? A small spark of anger rose up. ‘If he thinks that I’m
just
a poor grad student . . .’

The flush of a toilet broke into her thoughts and brought her back to earth. It was a date. He was being nice. She wasn’t even sure if she liked him, right?

A minute later, looking at herself in the ladies’ room mirror, she couldn’t tell. At least her hair was behaving, responding to the humid night with curls rather than frizz. And those long hours indoors had kept the freckles in check. She smiled. Nothing between her teeth, so she let the smile broaden into a real grin as she walked back to the table. There she found Luke staring off into space.

‘Luke, is anything wrong?’

‘What? Oh, I’m sorry.’ He turned back toward her, his face sad. ‘I just saw one of Tim’s friends with a woman. His fiancé, I think. And it made me think of – well—’ He sighed.

Dulcie reached out to take his hand. ‘I’m sorry. It must be so hard.’

He tried to smile, and failed, but covered her hand with his own. ‘It’s just so odd. I mean, the timing. Maybe Tim would’ve been like that eventually. Settled down. Happy. Successful.’

‘Well, he was trying.’ She couldn’t see it, but to say so at this point would be unkind. ‘I mean, he was getting tutored and everything.’

‘Yeah, he really liked her, too; said she was smart.’ Plus, thought Dulcie, he was probably screwing her. That was often a bonus in a tutor. ‘You know, when I think of it, he might have turned out all right. As funny as it sounds, he did like smart women, you know.’

‘Tim?’ She bit her lip. The deceased boor was Luke’s brother, not hers.

‘Well, he was impressed by you, and I know he thought his tutor was really smart.’

‘And Alana?’ That slipped out. Maybe he hadn’t heard.

But Luke sighed. ‘Yeah, well. Her pedigree was right. But, ring or not, I don’t think he’d have gone through with a wedding. He’d even ratcheted up the “dumb blonde” jokes, talked about trading her in for a smart brunette.’

Maybe Luisa had stood a chance. Dulcie sighed. All in all, she was probably better off with Bruce. But Luke was still talking. ‘I had the feeling there was someone he hadn’t told anyone about. Some woman who mattered to him, and now we’ll never meet.’

Dulcie thought of the young tutor. She was so innocent that Dulcie had assumed she’d been duped; used by the callous rich boy. But maybe he’d seen the earnest young student inside that lush body. Maybe he had cared, or would have, if he’d only had time. Just then, their dessert arrived, a berry tart dusted with sugar. Luke pulled off the mint sprig garnish and made to put it behind his ear. Dulcie couldn’t help laughing at his silliness, and the serious subjects were left far behind.

Twenty-Eight

Sunday brought no solution to Dulcie’s confusion, but at least it spared her a hangover. Whether to prolong their date, or to sober them both up, Luke had suggested that they walk a bit after leaving the restaurant. Although they’d driven up into Watertown, he’d shown her they were still on the Charles, and the view from the nearby bridge was beautiful, all lights and shimmering reflection.

‘Rather like Paris,’ he’d said, reaching over to touch her hair.

‘Or Portland.’ Her response was automatic, and not entirely accurate. But something about the romantic setting made her timid, and wry was a good fallback defense.

‘That’s right. You’re from the Pacific Northwest.’ He took the hint and turned back toward the river. ‘Did you grow up in Portland?’

It was Dulcie’s turn to sigh then. This was always the moment she dreaded, explaining her unconventional family dynamics to someone from a more normal background. ‘Not exactly,’ she stalled, wondering where to begin. Then she realized that she knew more dirt about Luke’s family than she did about anyone’s except maybe Suze. So why not share?

‘So my dad’s still in India. At least, last we heard. And my mother is living “on the land”, back in the collective.’ Fifteen minutes later, she had all the worst points sketched out.

‘Cool!’ He’d actually laughed when Dulcie had told him about the yurt. ‘You really are a self-made woman, aren’t you, Dulcie Schwartz?’

Dulcie shrugged, flattered. ‘To be honest, my mom – Lucy – is a good mother. I mean, she’s nutty, but she loves me. And when I wanted to go East to school, she didn’t stand in my way.’

He was looking at her. ‘Do you know how rare that is? I hang out with so many spoiled brats. They complain when their folks don’t give them everything, and here you are.’ He reached out to take her hand, but she turned away, pulling herself up to the concrete balustrade.

‘Here I am, learning the ways of the oppressors!’ She’d meant it as a joke, but the moment the words were out of her lips, she regretted them. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean—’

‘No, I know.’ He reached to grab her wrap before it fell into the water. ‘But I think it’s time we called it a night.’

All things considered, she should have been content with the small goodnight peck at the door. But when she woke, she found herself lying in bed, staring at the light playing on the ceiling. Had she wanted more? Less? Was she taking this traditional female role-playing too far?

Enough. If she couldn’t straighten out her love life, she could at least make progress on her thesis. And maybe her new awareness of feminine dilemmas would pay off. If she could only find a motive for Demetria, she’d be set. A quick shower, an iced latte, and a mixed berry muffin, and she was good to go. Tossing the paper cup into a trash barrel outside the library, she hopped up the granite stairs toward what really mattered in life.

‘No laptop usage until further notice,’ the guard said without looking up. ‘Bag, please.’ Signs taped along the walls reinforced the ban, marring the marble grandeur of the library entrance: ‘Please keep laptops turned off’. For Dulcie, the notices only stirred up the ashes of her fury. But enough of that. Outside of Widener, the real world might hold sway, with confusing men and idiotic police. Inside was her realm. She opened her bag, empty of everything but her pad and some pens. After yesterday’s breakthrough, she was eager to get started.

‘Hey, Mona!’ She waved at her friend. The librarian smiled and came over, standing on the other side of the electronic gate as Dulcie swiped her card and walked through.

‘Well, look at you! Have you been having some fun?’

‘Why? What?’ Dulcie could feel the blush climbing up from her T-shirt collar. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Mona waved her objection away, her jewel-inset nails sparkling in the sunlight-flooded entry. ‘You’ve got the look. You’re in
love . . .
’

Dulcie laughed. ‘Well, it’s never that simple.’ Her friend opened her mouth to protest, so she continued without a breath, ‘But, even better, I think I’ve got a thesis topic nailed down.’ Mona had heard enough of Dulcie’s late-night anxieties to take this seriously.

‘Well, good for you. At least something is nailed down here.’ At Dulcie’s puzzled look, she continued, ‘They still haven’t tracked that bug yet. We’re back to paper and pencil until further notice. Why do you think I’m here, after the Saturday night I just had?’ The librarian’s voice rose as she spoke, and Dulcie saw her glancing around, gauging her audience.

‘OK, you’re going to have to spill.’ Dulcie gave her friend a quick hug. ‘Later this week, at Grendel’s. But now, I think we’ve both got work to do.’

‘Nothing I can say in this place, anyway.’ Mona grinned back. ‘I’d set off the fire alarms for sure.’

As Dulcie waited for the elevator, she suppressed a shiver. Mona’s words reminded her that when the library had been renovated, the architects had installed a state-of-the-art fire suppression system. Weighing the risk of both fire and water to the three million plus books and untold manuscripts, maps, and what have you, they had opted to install a supersensitive alarm that actually analyzed air content, in order to avoid the sprinklers going off unnecessarily. At least, that was what the publicity material had led everyone to believe. But, according to grad student gossip, some of the rare books sections were protected by a different system. At the first sign of fire, the rumor said, airtight seals would close the doors and windows in the rooms with the rarest manuscripts – the vellums and papyri – and super-powered fans would suck out all the oxygen. That would extinguish a fire, all right. But woe betide any researcher trapped inside.

It would be a horrible death, Dulcie thought as the small elevator descended and the pit of her stomach rose from the rush. Although she was not sure she really believed the rumors. Nor, she reminded herself as the steel doors opened, did she usually spend time in the ‘locked wards’. Once she got down to writing, sure, she’d want to work from primary sources; to see the letters written by the first readers of
The Ravages
. She’d also want to read the contemporary critics, so much livelier – and nastier – than the modern press. But these papers, thought Dulcie as she walked by the tall, metal cases, were comparatively modern. Two hundred years was nothing to Widener. This place was like a pyramid, with secrets buried that were older by far.