Innocence. Kathleen Tessaro
considering what a sty it is.
I’m unpacking my books; stacks of play texts and anthologies I’ve lugged all the way from the States. ‘Yeah, sure. But we talk a lot, so that helps.’
She looks at me. ‘No, I mean, don’t you miss him?’
My face flushes. ‘Yes. I suppose.’
‘Nice to know you’re human, Evie Rose Garlick!’ She gives my ponytail a tug. ‘Hey! I’ve been thinking. There’s this great Fassbinder speech I think you should have a look at.’ She swings her legs round and sits up. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She pads off to her room.
‘Look at for what?’ There are no shelves. I pile my books from largest to smallest against the wall.
They fall over.
‘For Juilliard!’ I can hear her sifting through the chaos.
I start again. Two piles this time.
‘I already have my pieces.’
She appears in the doorway, holding a battered volume. ‘But just look at this!’ She flings herself back on to the bed. ‘It’s amazing! Here. Read it out loud. You’ll love it!’
I take the book. It smells musty, like she stole it from a library. ‘Which one?’
‘“The Model.’”
‘“Sometimes I like to fondle myself…’” I look up, shocked. ‘This is all about…about masturbating, Robbie!’
She claps her hands in glee. ‘Isn’t it amazing? It’s so sexy and raw! If you did that for Juilliard, they’d be floored, Evie! Nobody does that speech!’
‘But it’s…disgusting!’ I say, unable to stop reading.
‘It’s Fassbinder. It’s meant to be shocking. And you’re so cute. You come across like such a good little girl…it would be amazing to turn the tables like this!’
‘I’m sorry’ I shut the book and hand it back to her. ‘I can’t do that speech.’
‘What are you talking about? You’re an actress, aren’t you? What’s wrong with it?’
I open my wardrobe doors. ‘It’s so…so, overt! And …tasteless, Robbie!’ Picking up my laundry bag, I shake my clean clothes onto the floor. ‘I’d be too embarrassed to say those things!’
‘But that’s why you’re an actress, right? So you can say all sorts of shit you normally wouldn’t! Anyway, don’t you ever get yourself off?’
‘Stop it!’ I fold the pieces roughly. ‘And I’m not telling you anyway!’
She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Why not? I do. Everybody does. I have the most fantastic, big, black, rubber vibrator. Want to see it?’
‘No! I don’t want to see it!’
‘Want to borrow it?’
‘No! I really don’t!’ This is the pile for ironing. ‘Stop it! You’re being disgusting!’
‘So, what do you use? The shower head?’ She looks around the room. ‘A candle?’
‘Robbie!’ I pick up my ironing and march into the kitchen.
She follows. Obviously, she enjoys winding me up.
‘Come on, Evie! Give!’ She hauls herself up on top of the kitchen counter, oblivious to the piles of washing up. She watches as I struggle to open the ironing board. ‘What do you dream of? Two guys at once? Two girls at once? Dogs?’ She bangs her feet against the cabinets like a naughty child. ‘You country girls are the worst!’
‘I don’t do any of that.’ I yank up the ironing board. It balances precariously. Then collapses again.
‘Humm.’ She rubs her chin. ‘I know! Horses! Like Catherine the Great!’
‘Stop it, Robbie!’ I’m becoming upset. ‘I mean it.’
‘I’ll bet you have a thing for big burly black boys…or maybe some sort of pervy incest thing…oh, Daddy and all of that…nothing wrong with that, mind you.’
‘I’m serious! Please! I don’t want to talk about this!’ Pulling the board up again, I wrestle it into position.
‘That’s it, isn’t it! You’re a Daddy’s girl, aren’t you!’
‘Robbie…’ I want her to stop.
‘Oh, look, Daddy!’ She puts on a little girl voice. ‘I’ve grown out of my training bra!’
‘Robbie!’ I turn away.
‘Are you crying?’
A hot, angry tear works its way down my cheek. I brush it away with the back of my hand.
‘Hey!’ She launches herself off the kitchen counter. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off?’
I wish she’d leave me alone. ‘I can’t.’ My throat’s painfully tight.
‘What do you mean you can’t? I’m telling you to!’
‘No, what I mean is, I can’t!’ Why does she have to make such a big deal of everything? ‘When I get angry or upset, I just…just cry, like some sort of fool! I can’t even do it on stage! Whenever I have to get angry in a scene I melt down instead. I go numb and then…’ I’m crying even harder now. ‘I just can’t do it!’
‘Why not?’ She offers me a kitchen chair and sits down next to me. ‘What’s the worst thing that can happen?’
‘I don’t know. No one will like me. I’ll be ugly and vicious and evil, and all this shit will come out and I won’t be able to control it.’
‘Yeah?’ She stares at me. ‘So?’
‘What do you mean, so?’ She’s being deliberately obtuse. ‘No one will like me! I’ll lose everything that’s important!’
‘It’s bullshit.’ She wraps an arm round me. ‘Take me, for example. You could have a real go at me and I’d probably just think it was funny’
‘You’re not like normal people,’ I assure her. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong—I think it’s great. I wish I could be as free as you and not give a shit. But I do!’
She gives me a squeeze. ‘You’re too soft, darling. We have to toughen you up. Are people really that fragile in Ohio?’
I think of my parents. Silence at the dinner table; my mother sitting across from my father, pushing her food round and round on her plate…my father cutting his meat into hunks, forcing it between his lips, glaring at his water glass…
‘No. People don’t really get angry where I come from.’
‘Then New York will be good for you. The whole joint is seething!’
I sink my head against her shoulder. ‘I may not be going to New York.’
‘Oh, yes, you will! If I have anything to do with it! Besides, I need a chum I can torment day and night. Hey!’ She turns to face me, suddenly excited. ‘What would Raven do?’
‘Nothing.’ I roll my eyes. ‘She doesn’t exist, Robbie.’
She pokes me in the arm. ‘Yes, she does! That’s the whole point of alter egos. Come on, what would she do?’
I wish she’d just let this whole Raven thing go…just because I used the name one night…I rub my running nose on the back of my hand. ‘I don’t know…tell you to fuck off, I suppose.’
‘Great!’ Standing up, she pulls me to my feet. ‘So tell me to fuck off!’
‘But