So Much It Hurts (20 page)

When I say my lines, the most wonderful, incredible thing happens: I'm her. Ophelia. One hundred percent Ophelia. There's no room left tonight for Iris. And I'm glad of it. I've had too much Iris lately.

It's a long production—nearly two hours, with no intermission. A few small things go wrong (the harp music starts playing when it shouldn't; Lenore forgets two of her lines, not that I mind that glitch). Still, the play hangs together.

The cast comes out to take a group bow, and the audience gives us a standing ovation. It's weird to see my mom and Mick standing so close together. I notice that my mom's got a bouquet of irises in her arms.

“Iris, I'm afraid I haven't given you enough credit,” she tells me afterward. “You were fabulous tonight. You were all fabulous.”

Mick is hovering behind her, watching the two of us. He has an amused expression on his face. “Uh, Mom,” I say, “I'd like you to meet Mick Horton. He's, uh, a friend of Ms. Cameron's. Mr. Horton, this is my mom.” I can't believe I've just called my boyfriend Mr. Horton.

Mick doesn't seem to think any of this is weird. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Wagner,” he says, taking her hand and holding on to it a little too long. I really hope he isn't flirting with my mom. “Iris really takes after you,” Mick says. “You're both lovely.”

I don't think I've ever seen Mom blush before.

“Do I detect an Australian accent?” she asks him.

As if things aren't awkward enough, I see Katie's parents walking toward us. Her mom is waving. “You were a marvelous Ophelia,” I hear her saying. “So full of emotion.” I'm not nuts about leaving my mom and Mick alone together (what if she says something really goofy?),

but I also know I need to intercept Katie's parents.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” I say to Mom and Mick. “Hey, Mrs. Carsley.” I try blocking Katie's mom's way, but it's like trying to block a giant green recycling truck when it comes barreling down your street.

Mrs. Carsley kisses the air on both sides of my face. “The person I really want to congratulate is your mom. I know she's raised you alone, so I think it's especially important to tell someone like that”—she makes it sound as if single motherhood is a fatal disease—“what a wonderful job she's done.”

“Alice!” Mrs. Carsley bustles over to my mom. “It's been ages. Your Iris was simply marvelous. You've done a wonderful job. And to think you've done it all alone.” Mrs. Carsley pats the padded shoulder of her husband's suit as if the man inside is a well-behaved pet.

To my mom's credit, she doesn't get annoyed. Instead, she smiles graciously—and for the first time I wonder if maybe she should have gone into acting too. “Thanks, Elizabeth. It's very kind of you to say so. By the way, I heard the two of you were out of town this week. Iris didn't mention where you went.”

Mrs. Carsley purses her lips. She shoots me a look, and for a second I have the weird feeling she's going to cover for me.

But in the end, Mrs. Carsley isn't the problem. It's Mr. Carsley. “Away? Not us,” he says, shrugging his padded shoulders. “We haven't been out of town since Christmas. Though it's high time we planned something, don't you think, Elizabeth?”

Mom's eyes get really wide. “If you'll excuse us,” she says to the Carsleys and to Mick, who is still hanging around. Then she tugs my hand—hard—and practically drags me over to the side of the room. “Iris,” she hisses, “what in God's name is going on? Talk to me, Iris! Now!” Her green eyes are flashing in a way I'm not used to. She looks worried and angry. Mostly angry. I'm afraid she's going to shake me.

When I step back, she takes two steps toward me. We're so close now, I feel her breath on my face.

“I'm really sorry, Mom,” I say, “but I can't talk now.” I can't back up any farther, so I point at all the people milling about. Some of them are already watching us. “Not with everyone here. And the cast party starts in fifteen minutes. I can't miss it, Mom.”

“The cast party? Have you lost your mind? Whatever is going on here between us is way more important than some cast party! There's no excuse, Iris Wagner, for deceiving me. I don't know what's been going on with you lately, young lady, but we're going to get to the bottom of it.
Now!
”

She's grabbing at my hand again. I shake it loose. I can't stand anyone touching me in an aggressive way.

“I'll tell you everything tomorrow—I swear I will,” I say, meeting Mom's eyes.

“No, you won't.” She hasn't taken my hand again, but it's as if she's holding on to me with her eyes. “You'll tell me everything right now. I don't care who can see us.”

I can't keep talking to her now. Not like this. I need time to get my story straight. To figure out which lies I can undo. “Look, I'm really, really sorry, Mom, I swear I am. I shouldn't have lied to you. But you need to understand— things are pretty weird for me right now.” I work to keep my voice calm, thinking maybe that'll help to calm her down too.

“Pretty weird right now
? What on earth are you talking about, Iris Wagner?” I wish she wouldn't keep calling me
Iris Wagner
like that.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” she's asking now. She is getting herself even more worked up. Soon the whole school will know we're fighting.

“No. No, you don't. Not at all,” I whisper, hoping she will take my cue and lower her voice.

“Do I look like a pushover? Do I? Tell me that, Iris Wagner.”

“No, definitely not.”

I can see Mick hovering in the distance. His eyebrows are raised. He must know my mom has figured something out.

“Tomorrow,” I tell her again. “I'll explain tomorrow. Please, Mom, just give me till then.”

“Iris”—and now the look in my mom's eyes gets even fiercer—“you and I are having a problem, a
big
problem, today. Right here. Right now. So you'd better come clean with me.” She has finally lowered her voice, and I know it's because she is about to pull out the heavy ammunition. “After everything we've been through, Iris, you owe me the truth.”

The word
truth
hits me like a kick in the stomach. It hits me so hard I nearly give in. I nearly tell her everything.
The truth
. Only now, something else occurs to me: Mom hasn't always told
me
the truth. She's angry with me, but I realize I'm angry with her too—and I have a right to be. But why does it feel so scary to be angry with her? Maybe it's because it's a feeling I've never allowed myself. Maybe I've never dared to be angry with her. Because I've needed her so much.

Mick is coming closer. I can feel it even without looking up at him.

I meet my mom's eyes. “You know what, Mom? You owe me the truth too.” I'm shaking.

“What are you talking about, Iris?” There's something else now in my mom's eyes. Not anger. Recognition. Maybe even a hint of fear.

“Tomorrow.” I say it in my firmest voice. I'm still a little shaky.

Mom sighs, and I notice how tired she looks. Usually, I'd feel guilty.

Then she gives a half-nod. I can tell she's trying to get a grip, to come up with a plan the way she might come up with a plan to organize a closet full of junk. “All right, Iris,” she says, “but you're going to have to tell me one thing right now—before you go to any party. Just one thing.” Mom sucks in her breath. “Are you in some kind of serious trouble, Iris? Are you?”

This time it's harder work to meet her eyes. “It's nothing I can't deal with,” I tell her. I'm afraid my voice will break, but somehow it doesn't.

I freak out a little when, just before it's time to leave for the cast party, Mick sidles over and tells me we're going to need to lie low for a while. “It's obvious,” he whispers, “that your mother is getting suspicious.”

“What does
lie low
mean?” I don't care that I sound desperate.

“It means we don't see each other for a few days.”

“I can't. I won't.” I didn't tear up before, but now I do.

“You have to. It won't be for long, Joey. I can't have other people finding out about us. Not yet. You've got to understand. I—I've got too much to lose.”

“I don't want to be without you,” I sputter. “Ever.”

Mick touches the tip of my nose. “Me neither, Joey…”

“I thought you loved me so much it hurts.” If that reminds Mick of the poem, he doesn't say anything about it.

“I do. We'll talk in the morning. You go ahead without me to the party. I'm going back to the loft to look at the script those guys from Quebec City sent me. And Joey, when you talk to your mother tomorrow”—Mick looks at me as if to underline the importance of what he's about to say—“don't mention anything about us. Not a word. Got that?”

I feel as lost as I do in my dreams, when I'm in that dark forest. “What do I tell her then?” I need Mick's help. I'm out of stories.

“Tell her you've been with that kid. The one you were going out with before we got together.”

I nod my head, but now I've got even more lies to try and keep straight. Now I could fill two notebooks with lies.

The cast party is at Lenore's. She lives in a huge white brick house in Hampstead. It has a circular driveway, and inside it's full of antiques. Someone's left the front door open, so I let myself in. Because the first floor has an open plan, I see right away that everyone's there: Katie, Tommy, Antoine and all the others from the cast and crew. Everyone but Mick. I can't stop thinking how much more fun it would be if he was here. Even if we had to pretend we weren't together.

Tommy is hanging his jacket up on the antique coatrack. “Hey, Ophelia,” he says when he sees me. “You were really something tonight.”

Someone hands me a beer.

Lenore doesn't bother coming to the door. She and Katie are huddled by the white brick fireplace. Katie waves for me to come over, but because I'm not in the mood to hang with Lenore, I wander to the back, where the kitchen is.

A woman is reaching into the refrigerator. All I can see are her bare feet, sparkly toenail polish and the silver toe ring on one of her baby toes. I can't imagine Lenore having a mom who wears a toe ring, and it turns out I'm right, because when the fridge door closes, I see that the feet belong to Ms. Cameron. Maybe Lenore's parents are out or waiting out the party in one of the rooms upstairs.

“Hey, Ms. Cameron.” It feels weird to see your teacher standing in someone's kitchen. “Need some help?”

“That'd be great,” she says, handing me a tray of cut-up veggies. “Lenore told me there's some yogurt dip too. If I can find it in here.”

“Aha, there you are,” she says a moment later, talking to the dip. “Can you grab this too?” She looks at me as if she's just noticed I'm there. “That was a strong performance tonight, Iris. Haunting. You really made us feel how lost and torn you—I mean, Ophelia is. Maybe that extra work Mick's been doing with you has deepened your connection to Ophelia…” She lets her voice trail off.

“I guess,” I say, without moving. I don't want to give away too much. I know how good Ms. Cameron is at reading body language.

She touches my elbow. “Look, Iris, I don't like to discuss my personal life with my students.” Even though we're the only ones in the kitchen, she lowers her voice. “I was”—she stops to choose her words—“involved…with Mick. We had an argument once and he got a little rough with me. Of course, I broke up with him after that.”

It's hard not to react. Mick and Ms. Cameron? How come he never told me they were together? He got
a
little rough
with her. And then she broke up with him. I'm still trying to make sense of what she's just told me, but Ms. Cameron keeps talking.

“I respect his work, but I don't think he has much of a talent for relationships. I heard there was some trouble in Australia too. So, Iris, if you're thinking about getting involved with him, don't! I know how persuasive Mick can be when he wants something. But you're a smart girl, Iris, maybe the smartest I've ever taught. You'll be smart about this too, right?”

“Right,” I say as I tuck the tub of dip into the crook of my arm. “And I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

How can she not know what I mean? “For what happened. With you and Mick. It must've been awful.”

I'm shaking, but I manage somehow to use my other elbow to open the swinging door that leads back out to the main area.

A guy turns around, and as soon as he does, I know it's Errol. I recognize him from the pictures in his bubbie's apartment. What's he doing here?

“Errol!” I say, and without thinking I hand him the tray of veggies.

“Do I know you?” he asks.