Part 23 (1/2)

She says, ”You just have to get over me, Pearl. Leave it alone.”

It's funny how she says it. As if I am the abandoned one and she is asking me to move on. I feel humiliated and rejected. But encouraged, too, in a strange way. Hallie is telling me to move on. Hallie is saying my work is done here. This is probably what I came for.

So I tell her, ”I want to know you're okay. I handled it badly. I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should have been more understanding. I shouldn't have pushed.”

These words are coming out of me in a torrent. They sound rushed and confused and younger than my years, younger than Hallie's years.

She smiles, and her smile seems calm and comforting. It rea.s.sures me. I have come here to be rea.s.sured by my student. How sad is that? I feel my tongue backing down my throat and tears are shoving at the corners of my eyes.

She says, ”It's okay. You just wanted me to be great. But I don't want to be great. My mother was that way and it drove her nuts. She died.”

”You're looking at it all wrong,” I say.

”I have to go inside,” she says.

”Hallie, just don't give up.”

”Why would I do that?” she asks.

”Please. Talk to me.”

She shakes the hair out of her face, and suddenly she appears mature. Way more mature than I am. She has a knowing look in her eyes.

She says, ”Things mostly work out. People have their stories, you know? All the calamity and drama, it's a way of putting things off. It's an excuse not to live.”

I don't say anything to that.

She says, ”Look, how it happens is, people survive stuff. Everybody's story is sad because people like sad stories. But the truth is, we just work our way through the mess. I probably told you stuff I shouldn't have. I was probably trying to get you to care. And you proved you cared.”

She starts backing away. I want to leap out of the car and grab her. I want to kidnap her and take her home. I want to shape her life. I want her to amount to something. I think it is my job. I watch her retreating into the shadows, and I realize there is nothing I can do.

I think, She is going to be okay. Then I think, No, she is not.

Then I realize she is going to be okay some days, and some days she is not, and that is how it goes.

Out the window, I say, ”Hey, was that you I saw on the street in Venice?”

She laughs. ”Face it, you're just going to keep seeing me.”

”Until what?” I ask.

”Until you don't need to anymore.”

I get out of my car but stay next to it. ”Did you get anything from me?” I ask. I hear the scared, pathetic tone in my voice. Like when you hit the wrong note on a violin. It's sorry for you. It wants to make it up to you. It translates your pain.

Hallie turns. She says, ”Too soon to tell. But it's over now, you know? Everything ends. You move on to the next thing.”

”Tell me what to do.”

She's in the shadows now. I can barely see her. But as always, I can hear her.

She says, ”Don't be pathetic. I couldn't live with that.”

I stand there for a long time after she's gone. I hear the whir of the power lines.

Finally I get in the car and close the door.

I start the engine and I hear the pistons churning, and I turn the headlights on and see the rays illuminating the road ahead of me, and I'm in the presence of all these laws of physics, which have always governed our lives, even when we didn't understand them, and I know that awareness improves and diminishes our lives in equal parts.

I put the car into gear and I move away from her and toward something else.

18.

WHEN I GET HOME, I am greeted by the angry, pacing version of Clive. We have not made a plan to get together tonight. We said we would call each other. So I am surprised, agitated, pleased, and annoyed to see him, all at once.

”It's cold out here,” he says as I get out of the car. It is late February, and the rainy season has set in. It hasn't actually rained today, but the clouds have been hovering and the threat of rain feels just like the actual event in L.A.

”Yes, it's a little chilly. What are you doing here?” I ask.

”It's Wednesday. We usually see each other on Wednesdays.”

”I had Lance today. You know I stay late when I have Lance.”

”So it's all about Lance now,” he accuses. I actually laugh; it's such a ridiculous charge.

”No, it's only about Lance on Wednesdays.”

”And sometimes on Mondays.”

”What's your point, Clive?”

He obviously doesn't have a point. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. One reason he is cold is that he is not wearing a coat. People can't get a handle on the weather in Los Angeles, even if they were born and raised here. It claims to be a warm climate, but it is not consistent. And its att.i.tude changes as drastically as hormones.

He thrashes around for a point, then comes up with this: ”You have to decide if we are a couple or not.”

”All right. I'm going with yes, we are a couple.”

This surprises him. He hesitates a moment, then says, ”Well, couples make time to see each other.”

”I have some time now,” I say, kissing him on the neck. I had targeted his mouth, but he turned his head away at the last second.

”You are wearing me out,” he says.

”How am I doing that?”

”You act like you want to be with me, but you won't really be with me.”