Better Than Me (3 page)

Chap
ter 5: NOW-September/October

Things are falling into a nice, familiar pattern, sort of like fall of junior year.  I’m starting to feel a little less shaky and vulnerable.  Classes are going well.  The Shakespeare class is challenging, but not overwhelming.  Film class is just plain fun.  It’s a little difficult to stay awake at times in a darkened classroom, especially if I have been up late studying or hanging out.  The guy behind me in class nodded off so badly during Citizen Kane that he practically head-butted me.  I’d have to say Historical Linguistics is the hardest.  It’s a bit out of my comfort zone.  The reading is challenging, like Chaucer in Old English. Sheesh!  I know this is just the beginning of the semester and it will get easier as I understand it more. I just would prefer not to work so hard my last year.  I’m working so hard at keeping myself together in general.  So, classes:  check.  We are good there.   Self-esteem and anxiety:  Not quite yet.

I have been spending time with all of my friends.  Lunchtime in the caf
eteria is loud and animated as everyone relays their tales of classroom struggles and catches up on relationship gossip.  I, for one, am glad I’m not a topic of discussion.  Not that they’d gossip about me to my face, but nobody is asking questions and I’m not volunteering any info about myself or others.  Jake sits next to or near me every day.  He seems genuinely interested in how I am doing.  How my classes are going.  What’s happening on my floor.  I learn that Jake is on the 2
nd
floor of Lawrence.  His RA is Suzette, who I worked with in Merten last year.  All of my past interactions with her have been positive, so we’re cool.  Suzette’s a Literature major.  We’ve had a few classes together.   She’s a senior, like me.  I’ve always admired her looks, perhaps because they are so opposite of mine.  Suzette looks, well, exotic.  Short, pixie-cut dark hair, black eyes and olive skin.  Adorable accent.  I think she once said her family was from Louisiana.  Cajun, maybe?  Lately, she’s started sitting at our lunch table, down at the other end.  That is where Davis sits.  Since we were first introduced two weeks ago, Davis hasn’t really spoken to me.  He always smiles and gives his up-nod or says, “Hey, Biz” with the same gesture of his head, but hasn’t engaged me in conversation.  Everyday, he always finds a moment to suck me in with those green eyes of his.  I admit, I look around for him every time I’m in the cafeteria.  I feel a sense of relief once I see him, and enjoy the zapping/buzzing electricity his presence fills me with.  It’s been two weeks and that feeling is always there.  The calm and excitement I feel together are an addictive combination.  It’s probably a good idea not to get too hooked.  I am dealing with it by keeping my distance and reminding myself he is way off limits.  But...I can’t help looking.  If I am throwing off any signals about Davis, Jake doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s a Tuesday.  Everyone’s at lunch
, and right before we are wrapping up to go to class or back to our rooms to study or nap, Jake reaches over and takes my hand.  He’s touched me briefly in conversation, but nothing so intentional before.  His hand in mine is warm and comforting.  Not at all unpleasant.  I have been avoiding purposeful touch.  Accidental brushes or touches from anyone seem fine, but purposeful touch from a male, I’ve not sought out.  But I am okay with Jake holding my hand. 

He asks me, right in front of everyone, “Will you come to
band rehearsal on Friday night?  I want you to hear us.  Tell me what you think.  There will be a bunch of people there.  I think Jules is even coming after she gets off work.” 

“Ummm…” I stall
. 

Jules, Charlie, Kris and Smitty start in on me.

“Come on, Biz.” 

“Bizzy, we haven’t been out in so long.” 

“It will be fun.”  I agree to go and everyone seems pleased, especially Jake who is smiling broadly.  He winks at me and skates his fingers lightly across my palm. 

“I’m gonn
a push this a little further,” Jake whispers in my ear.  Everyone else has moved on to discussing the Friday night plans and is no longer listening to us.  “Will you go out with me Saturday night?  To a party, in The Loop.” 

“Like a date?” 

“Not ‘like a date.’  A date.  You’ll know a few people there, I’m sure, but it’s not only our friends or people from school.”

I’m smiling inside if not out.  “Sure.” I whisper back.  I didn’t think Jake could smile any wider, but he does. 

He squeezes my hand, leans over and kisses my cheek and says, “I’m glad.”  Jake’s attention, his touch, feel…not icky at all.  A small wave of relief washes over me.  We say our goodbyes until later.  Jake leaves after brushing his lips across the back of my hand and releasing it.  When I look down the table at my friends to see if they caught any of the interaction, I am immediately struck down by Davis’ eyes burning a hole right into me.  The expression on his face is unreadable, but his eyes are intense and unblinking.  I can’t tell what he’s thinking.  I find myself wishing I could.
Why do I care? 
It’s not quite anger on this face.  It’s what?  Impassive?  Contemplative?  No, it’s simmering.  First, he is looking at me.  Then his attention shifts to the back of Jake’s head as he walks out the cafeteria doors. 
Whatever.  It’s none of his business.
Then why am I concerned? 
I stand, gather my tray and bookbag and move to the tray return.  As I walk by, Davis reaches up and stops me briefly by gently grabbing my arm at the elbow.

“See you later.”

Huh? Whoa.  His touch sends a shock up my arm to my chest, causing my nipples to alert and tighten.  It feels different than Jake’s touch. 
I try to look unaffected and act like it’s not a big deal.  Saying nothing, I pull my arm away.  I have to do a few things before I go to the theatre.

***

My fall semester senior year theatre assignment is, well, sort of great.  I am in charge of the costume shop during the fall season which includes events in an area called The Space and the fall show that will be staged there, Shakespeare’s Othello.  I am also considered an assistant producer for Othello.  Today, I am meeting with Dr. Longworth at The Space.  He is the production’s Director and Producer.  It’s dark as I come into The Space from outdoors and as my eyes adjust I can make out two figures sitting on the edge of the stage.  It’s Dr. Longworth and… Davis.  The electricity that I’ve felt when I’ve seen him before is right there in a flash.  Hum. Zap.  He hasn’t looked my way or made eye contact and it’s already started.  It’s got to be nerves, I tell myself.  I try to push the feeling down and ignore it. 
I Can Do This.  I Can Totally Do This. 
Good old mantra.
 
Davis looks up at me.  He raises his eyebrows in a pseudo-surprised look, but it’s brief and changes to his smirky half smile.  Now I get why he said, “See you later.”  He knew he’d see me here.  Dr. Longworth intones, “Ah, Elizabeth, good, you’re here.” 

“Hi, Dr. Longworth,
Hello, Davis.”  My voice sounds sort of low and, yikes, seductive, when I say the “Hello, Davis” part.  Attempting to act cool and not give in to the electrical storm shooting around inside of me, I plop myself down on the stage next to Davis.  I can feel the hair on my arms prick up as Davis’ proximity increases my shaky zapping feeling.  Dr. Longworth chuckles a little and moves to sit in one of the seats in the front row of the theatre.  Facing us, he says, “Let’s get on with our first production meeting, shall we?  Elizabeth, you seem to know Davis.  He will be our sound and lighting designer.  Phillip Joseph can’t be at the meeting today, but he is doing the costume design.” 

I adore Phillip Joseph.  He is a tall
, pink-haired costume designer I’ve worked with many times.  “Oh, I love PJ.  I can’t wait to assist him!” I interrupt excitedly.

Both Dr. Longworth and Davis’ faces swivel to look at me
, absolutely confounded.  Davis gulps out, “He…ALLOWS you to call him PJ?  He would normally, in his words, ‘cut a bitch’ for calling him anything other than Phillip Joseph.  How’d you avoid that hissy fit?”

“He loves me,
” I brag.  “We have an understanding.  I gave him the nickname.  He resisted at first, but when I gave him my reasoning, he was cool with it.  I, however, am the only one who can call him PJ.”  I relay all of this with pride.

Davis is chuckling, “I can’t wait to hear this story.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, Davis.  We only have a short amount of time to meet.” Dr. Longworth halts the digression.  “I also still haven’t nailed down a set designer for Othello.  That’s what I’m working on when we are finished here.”

We
have a general discussion about the upcoming events in The Space and then move on to discuss the production of Othello.  Davis has obviously done all of this before, because he is already on top of every aspect.  As a matter of fact, HE seems more like the producer than the professor.  By the end of the meeting, Dr. Longworth sees that too and basically gives him the job by naming Davis as the co-producer.  We wrap up by setting a date for the next meeting.  Dr. Longworth says goodbye, leaving Davis and me sitting on the stage next to each other.

Dr. Longworth
is barely out the door, when Davis demands I tell him the “PJ” story.

“PJ was the
costume designer when I was in Picnic.  I’ve also worked on another couple of shows with him, building costumes in the shop or being a dresser.  We hit it off.  One night I called him PJ, instead of Phillip Joesph.  When I did, everyone around me stopped talking and well, breathing.  Like you, they were sure he was going to ‘go off.’  Instead, he glared at me and said, “Oh girl, why would you call me that?”  I asked him did he know what a “PJ” was?  His answer was, “something toddlers wear to sleep in.”  I corrected him.  “You see, a PJ is that warm comfortable thing you can’t wait to get home and take your fucking pants off for, so you can slip into it and wear it to bed.”  PJ seemed to like the double entendre of someone wanting to ‘wear’ him, so he let me keep calling him PJ.  I still don’t recommend anyone else try it though.  Calling him PJ.”   Davis is laughing out loud and shaking his head.  His laugh is full and deep.  Real.  I’ve never felt a laugh wrap around me before.  I wonder if Davis realizes how being near him has me so alert, attuned to him.  He’s a sound guy, surely he can hear my heart racing.  I tell myself to calm down.  This guy is just a work associate.  Nothing more.

Davis angles his head toward me and speaks.  “So…..Biz? What kind of name is that?  Dr. L. called you Elizabeth.”

“My name IS Elizabeth.  When I was little, Elizabeth was sort of difficult for me to pronounce, I guess.  I would call myself “Bizzybet.”  My parents, of course, thought it was adorable.  They started calling me “Bizzybet,” which evolved to “Bizzy.”  When I was in sixth grade, I sort of rebelled against “Bizzy” saying it made me sound like a bee or something.  I asked everyone to just call me Biz.  My cousins still insist on calling me Bizzy to this day.  All of this comes out very rapidly and excitedly.  It’s irritating that when I am trying to look my most cool I get the most excited, and I chatter like squirrel.  Happens every time.

Davis gives a short chuckle “I have to say, I’ve never heard that name before.”

“It’s different.” I agree.

“Much as I like
the name Biz, I think I have a better name for you…”  Davis has scooted over close and is sort of bumping me with his shoulder.  He turns, leans into my ear and whispers hotly, “Elizabeth.”  I am only hoping he can’t sense how much I’m shaking inside and enjoying his closeness.  I am waiting for him to tell me some sweet nickname.

Davis continues to whisper
softly in my ear, “...sounds like...”  And then quickly says louder, “LIZARD BREATH.”   My mouth pops open in shock, causing him to laugh. I turn to him and sock him on his bicep.  He doesn’t seem to even feel it.  My hand aches.  He is much more built than I thought.  Davis pops up from the stage, now laughing hysterically and starts running up the aisle.  “Lizard Breath, oh my god, it’s perfect,” he continues, thoroughly amused with himself.  I jump off the stage right after him and move up the aisle too, begging “Oh, no, you are not calling me that.” 

“I am.  I love it.”  He turns and
I bump into him chest to chest.  ZAP!  I back up a step or two.  His hands have reached out to grab my arms and steady me, keeps me closer to him.  He has captured me in his gaze. 
Whoa! I want to move closer. 
Then I recall that closeness with
Davis could be dangerous. 

I try to squirm away and inform him, “Fine, then from now on I am going to refer to you as Mavis.”  Davis makes a face like he
is going to protest.  Instead he narrows his eyes, shakes his head, mumbles something and blurts out, “Whatever…Lizard Breath is funnier.”    Grrrrr-this guy is going to be a handful to work with.

Changing the subject abruptly he asks, “What’s up with you and Jake?”

“I don’t know…we’re friends,  I guess?” 

“Cool.
I guess?” he replies.

“A bunch of us are going to
the band’s rehearsal on Friday.  You gonna be there?”

He looks pensive and replies, “I don’t know.  I mean, I knew about it ‘cause I help with their sound sometimes, but I didn’t hear about them needing me this Friday.” Then he quickly adds, “So does that mean you’re not doing anything Saturday night?”