The Year of the Gadfly (22 page)

JUSTIN AND LILY
stood on the concrete front steps of Hazel's house. The structure was half log cabin, half postmodern museum with diamond-shaped glass windows set into dark splintery planks. Hazel opened the door wearing a long brown sweater, a thick green scarf, and at least a dozen jangling bracelets. She ushered them in to a large room with three tapestry-covered couches and skylights filtering snowy light. The room contained many large paintings, most displaying women in various states of undress. The canvas over the fireplace showed a woman who resembled Hazel, minus the freckles. Her hair curled like vines across her naked breasts.

“That's my mom,” Hazel said when she saw Lily staring. “It's a self-portrait.”

Justin had explained that Lorna Greenburg ran a big-deal artists' colony and that she was “eccentric.” Clearly, Lily thought.

Hazel took Justin's hand—just picked it up like Lily wasn't there—and led him out and down the hall. Lily followed.

The kitchen smelled like paint. Jonah sat at an island, clutter encroaching upon the magazine before him. Clotted paintbrushes leaned out of Mason jars like wilted wildflowers, and the curled-up paint tubes resembled half-used toothpastes.

“Hi, Jonah,” Lily said. She was making an effort to be congenial.

Jonah grunted, hopped off the stool, and opened the fridge. Inside sat a few Diet Cokes and a rotting banana.

“I haven't been to the store in a couple days,” Hazel said. “Order us a pizza, Jonah.”

“You do the shopping?” Lily said, amazed.

Hazel shrugged. “So what did you lovebirds do last night?” She perched herself on one of the island stools and leaned forward on her elbows. Lily and Justin looked at each other. “Aw, Jonahlah, look how shy they are!” Hazel was staring at Lily's and Justin's intersecting fingers. Meanwhile, Jonah was staring at Hazel. What, Lily wondered, was going on with the three of them?

The front door slammed. “Hazel!” An operatic voice echoed through the house. Everyone's gaze broke and shifted toward the kitchen door, as of that moment empty, but quickly filling with the sound of clicking heels, stomping boots, and low laughter. A thin cloud of smoke appeared, followed by a man—bearded and flanneled, wearing silver earrings—and, finally, a woman with wavy hennaed hair who was dressed in gauzy, diaphanous black.

The man looked startled to see the four teenagers in the kitchen. “I thought you only had one child, Lorna?”

“Three of these must have wandered in.” Hazel's mother flicked her cigarette into an ashtray on the island. “Justin, Jonah,” she said smiling at them. “Pleasure as always.” Then she turned to Lily, the burning tip of her cigarette held high beside her face, its bright point like a third eye. “I haven't seen you here before.”

Hazel's mother hardly resembled the fireplace portrait. Lines creased her mouth and eyes. Her foundation was like poorly mixed acrylic paint. She was her daughter's height but only half her daughter's size, her shoulders slim as bird bones.

“This is my girlfriend, Lily.”

“Well, it's about time!” Lorna exclaimed, her cigarette sweeping through the air.

“Who are you?” Hazel demanded of Lorna's companion. “The painter or the sculptor?”

“For God's sake, Hazel! I didn't raise you to be rude to my guests.” Lorna pointed her cigarette at her daughter. The smoke curled around Hazel's face, but Hazel didn't blink. Lorna shook her head. “A kid's sole purpose in life is to make
your
life difficult. Isn't that right, baby?” Suddenly playful, Lorna kissed her daughter on the head. “You all have fun!” she sang, and hungrily grabbed her man's hand, much in the way, Lily noticed, that Hazel had grabbed Justin's hand when they first arrived.

The man looked over his shoulder. “I blow glass,” he said in a tone suggesting that this didn't mean much to him.

“I know what else you blow,” Hazel muttered. “Lorna's all crazy now,” she continued. “But she'll crash in the next week or two and then things'll be quiet.” She turned to Lily. “She's manic-depressive.”

“That must be tough.”

“Could be worse.”

Lily wasn't sure what could be worse about it. “And that man?”

“Hazel, baby,” Hazel said, imitating her mother's singsong voice and itinerant cigarette, “you can't rely on men for shit, but you can enjoy them.” Hazel flicked the imaginary cigarette at Lily. “Just make sure you throw them out before they get the same idea about you.”

“And your dad?” Lily asked meekly.

“Must be somebody walking around with the other half of my DNA. I used to get birthday cards, but I don't anymore. Jonah!” Hazel snapped. “I thought I said to call for pizza.”

 

The next day Lily and Justin lay in the Kaplans' family room, buried under itchy blankets. This was a rarity. In four months, Lily had been to Justin's house only half a dozen times. Lily's house was safer; she had no siblings to disturb them. On this afternoon, however, Jonah was at Hazel's, and the Kaplans were working in their college labs.

Lily was asking Justin about Hazel's empty refrigerator. There were so many art supplies in that house, but so little food. “She's been taking care of Lorna for a long time,” Justin said, stroking Lily's hair. He seemed much more interested in her head than in the conversation.

“But doesn't Lorna have meds that keep her, I don't know, sane?”

“Yeah, but she doesn't like taking them. She says they ruin her ability to create. The weird thing is that Lorna knows she has to make money and put food on the table.”

“Not very much food.”

“You know what I mean. She provides. So when she has to start running the artists' colony—accept applications, deal with the foundation that funds the place, all of that—she gets all serious and starts taking her meds. It's like a cycle. From April to October, she's pretty much together. From November to March, she's a mess.”

As Lily mulled this over, Justin resumed his stroking. He was fascinated with her hair, always touching it, turning the white strands over in his fingers like magical thread. He kissed her, but she pulled away.

“Are you and Jonah equally close with Hazel? I mean, is there ever any—I don't know—any competition?” She'd seen how easily the three of them teased one another. They were prone to spontaneous laughter as if their minds were linked by some mental open-source network. Just as often, though, Lily noticed that one of them would try to send a nonverbal message to just one of the others—Hazel to Justin but not Jonah, or Jonah to Hazel but not Justin. These were messages communicated by looks, the subtle raising and lowering of eyelids, brief gestures. Lily wondered about the dynamic when she wasn't around. Was the subterfuge necessary then?

Justin locked his fingers with Lily's. “My mom wanted you to know that Hazel's always been really physical with us, you know, because she doesn't get affection at home.”

“Why does your mom care?”

Justin didn't answer but pressed his face into Lily's hair. “You smell so good,” he said.

“Do you spend a lot of time with Hazel when I'm not around?”

“I'd always rather spend time with you.” Justin reached under Lily's shirt.

“Hey!” An unexpected voice caused them to jerk apart. “Did you guys make any babies today?” Neither of them had heard the front door open, but here was Jonah standing before the couch, shaking his head. “You know, he has a bedroom. It's very nice. The best thing about it is the bed.”

“Get out, insect!”

Jonah ignored his brother. “You know why he won't take you upstairs, right, Lily? He's a fake. He's worse than a girl faking an orgasm.”

It was true. In their few visits to his house, Justin refused to bring her to his room.

“Shut up, asshole.” Justin threw a pillow at his brother and missed. “Wait, where are you going?” he said when Lily stood up and started toward the door.

“Upstairs. To avoid another interruption.” She was angry at both brothers. What sixteen-year-olds behaved this way? Outside the family room door, however, she paused. “You may think so,” she heard Jonah say. “But you'll regret not listening to us. In the end.”

Lily felt, more than understood, what Jonah meant by this comment, and she hurried toward the stairs. Why
did
Justin insist that they stay downstairs? It wasn't like entering his bedroom meant an immediate loss of their respective virginities. They hadn't even seen each other naked! His penis frightened her. She understood that it was connected to him, that there was a direct correlation between her touch and his response. Yet even after she finally came to stroke it, the smooth spots and ridges coalesced into little more than an abstract shape, something that brought to mind, of all things, modern art. In any case, it was time to move things forward.

But with each step she took toward the second floor, Lily felt an increasing discomfort. The upstairs walls were covered with something, but the lights were off and her poor eyesight made it difficult to see. Were those picture frames? But then why was her skin prickling? At the top step, she froze.

Insects swarmed the walls, crawled from the ceiling to the floor, and swarmed over her body, skittering up her arms and legs. She swatted madly at herself, but there was nothing on her. The insects were frozen, pinned behind the glass frames that covered every inch of the walls. In a rectangular frame to her right was the largest scorpion she'd ever seen. Nearly half a foot long, its pincers were spread open, and its stinger-tail curled over its body like a whip. Lily tripped away from the wall, backing into an even larger frame behind her. Inside was a tarantula covered in thick black bristles. She whimpered, and stumbled again.

Justin brushed past her and walked down the hallway. He stopped in the middle, faced her, and stretched his arms out so that his fingers brushed the glass frames on opposing walls. He looked like a god commanding the insect swarms.

He pointed to the scorpion. “That's
Hadrurus arizonensis,
the largest scorpion in North America.” He took the frame off the wall and thrust it toward her. “Do you see that bulb at the end of its tail? That's the poison gland. It sinks into its victim.” He moved closer. “And releases the poison into the blood.”

Lily wanted to turn away, but she couldn't move.

“
This
used to be our pet. You know how most kids have dogs or cats? Our parents gave us a scorpion. It stung me right here.” He pointed to the center of his palm. “It's not lethal.”

Her throat felt swollen. “It must have hurt.”

“Yeah. Kind of like somebody plunging a two-inch rusted needle into your palm.” His blue eyes glowed with anger. “It hurt like a fucking scorpion!”

Jonah had rankled Justin more than Lily realized. Now he was mad, possibly at her. But what had she done?

“How about slamming your foot against the wall because you lost a stupid competition?” she snapped. “Did it hurt like that?”

They stared at each other. Somewhere in the house, a burst of laughter echoed and died.

“No,” Justin said evenly. “It didn't hurt like that.” He turned away from her and replaced the frame. “I told you not to come up here.” His voice wavered. “I didn't want you to see this.”

“Why did Jonah call you a fake?”

Justin inhaled. He appeared to be holding his breath.

“Why?” she demanded again.

Justin finally exhaled. “He thinks I'm pretending to be a different person to keep you interested.”

“Are you?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, either you are or you aren't.”

“Lily, my mother is an entomologist. She studies bugs for a living. Imagine telling
that
to the kids in school when we were little. Imagine telling it to their parents! That was bad, but the fact that my mother chose to decorate her house with a bunch of insects is so much worse. It meant Jonah and I couldn't have anyone over whom we didn't totally and absolutely trust. You were terrified when you came up here, and you know what? That's a normal reaction. But this,” Justin said flinging his arms wildly around, “this isn't normal!”

Lily wanted to say something, but Justin seemed so upset that she couldn't fathom an appropriate response.

“And it gets better, Lily. You know why? Because I
killed
half these insects. This was how I spent my weekends growing up.
This
was an average Saturday. Instead of playing sports or collecting baseball cards, or doing whatever it was that we
should
have been doing, we were asphyxiating bugs.” Justin's mouth twisted into a Jonah-esque snarl.

“So your mom forced you to do this? You said, ‘Mom, I want to go play soccer,' and she said, ‘Not until you murder a bunch of bugs'? Because you're talking about all of this like you hate it and always have.”

Justin's chin stiffened. He looked past her, and she could see his eyes skimming the insect frames.

“Sure, if you're looking at all this from the outside, it's pretty screwed up,” Lily said. “But have you looked at
me
lately? Did you ever stop to think that people treat me like an insect, like some kind of alien life form? Maybe the reason you like me so much is because I'm as creepy-looking as all these bugs.” And then she laughed. She'd meant this as a joke, but it wasn't. She remembered Justin stroking the dead dragonfly at school. It was obvious now—he'd chosen her because he was obsessed with the bizarre.

Justin said nothing. His face pulsed pink, then strawberry.

“You're making all of these assumptions about me—what I'll like, what I'll hate—but you won't give me the chance to decide for myself.”

“I'm sorry.” His chin sank to his chest, his neck boneless. But then his head snapped upright. “Don't move!” He squeezed her shoulder and hurried off down the hall.