On the way to the midtown apartment, Marion asks Sveyta what she thinks of this strange cheat. She shows her the picture from the article, which she has clipped out and put in her purse. They are in Sveyta’s car, driving into the city.
“Was there a cash prize?” Sveyta asks.
“Fifteen hundred dollars,” Marion says.
“That is something, but not enough. There are other ways to make that money.”
“Not for everyone.”
“But she’s running a marathon, or at least pretending to. She could ask her family for the money.”
“What if she couldn’t?”
“She could. Look at her clothes. Expensive activewear. It wasn’t about money.”
Marion looks at Sveyta, who is looking at her blind spot to change lanes. Sveyta should be telling Marion that she’s glad she’s here, or glad that she was available on such short notice to clean the apartment. An American woman would tell Marion all these things, and Marion would have to reassure the American woman how well it works for her, this opportunity, that it is actually perfect to be wearing a housecoat and driving into Manhattan with a bucket of chemicals. But Sveyta says nothing, only concentrates on her driving, which is timid. Sveyta is aware that she is timid and tries to be bold.
“When does the family arrive?”
“Day after tomorrow, around eight.”
“What are they like?”
“Russian, wealthy, young. The mother, that is. She has two daughters who are also young. The husband is older. They are all very beautiful.”
Marion wonders for the umpteenth time what it might be like to be beautiful. What doors would that open? What could she concentrate on if she weren’t concentrating on her blocked pores, her asymmetrical face, her eyebrows all askew?
“How long will they stay in New York?”
“Seven weeks. The daughters are both dancers and will be training at the Joffrey.”
“I love the ballet.”
“Really?” Sveyta says. “We should go sometime.”
Marion’s heart leaps; she would love to go to the ballet with Sveyta. She pictures them sitting in a box together, in beautiful outfits. They are beautiful together.
“I would love that. Only I have nothing to wear.”
Sveyta makes no suggestion that Marion’s clothes are good enough. She says, “You should go shopping.”
Marion thinks of the knapsack of cash, already dwindling, but yes, she should go shopping, she should impress Sveyta. Cleaning lady by day, patron of the arts by night.
They pull up to a glassy high-rise off Central Park near Columbus Circle. Sveyta peers out the window and allows herself a few wrinkles as she looks at the building with disdain.
“Ridiculous,” she says. She reaches into her purse, pulls out a set of keys, and gives them to Marion. “Apartment 2626. You may call if you have any questions. I can’t take you up, unfortunately—there is nowhere to park—but the doormen know that you are expected. Give them your name. Yes?”
“Yes,” Marion says, and wonders if she and Sveyta will ever go to the ballet together. She will buy the clothes anyway.
Marion at Twenty-Three
For their first date, Nathan takes Marion to a bar near his apartment in Cobble Hill. It has dark paneling on the walls, a jukebox, and a small garden in the back with picnic tables. Marion orders a glass of white wine, but the bartender doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, so she changes her order to an IPA. Nathan watches the interaction and approves. Of what, Marion isn’t sure.
Nathan suggests the backyard and Marion says great, although she would prefer cool air. She sweats when she drinks, but Nathan seems to want her to be someone who enjoys picnic tables. He recommends that she put some music on the jukebox, but she wants to drink her beer first. She needs to figure out what music he likes. She doesn’t really listen to music all that much.
Without the bar of the café between them, they are figuring out how to be. It was lucky when they found out they both lived in Brooklyn, but the BQE intersects their two apartments. It was an ugly twenty-five-minute walk for Marion to meet Nathan. Nathan doesn’t seem to understand that.
Nathan Palm is nervous, and so he talks a lot, which Marion likes. She doesn’t date often, because she doesn’t like being responsible for ending small silences. Also, not many ask for dates. He tells her a funny story, and when she laughs, he runs his fingers through his hair. He’s wearing a large watch with a thick leather strap, and it looks like it belongs to someone older.
He’s drinking whiskey, and Marion thinks it affects him quickly. He’s softly slurring his words, and he becomes more casual, more confident. His accidental drunkenness is endearing. She thinks it proves that he doesn’t drink that much, and this is true. He made a mistake. She takes her time with her beer and then goes to the jukebox. She hasn’t figured out what he likes, so she puts on the Velvet Underground for the next six songs and returns with another beer for her, a beer for him, and two glasses of water on a tray. He approves of everything she does: the music, the water, the choice of beer for him. He is glowing with positivity and acceptance. He tells another funny story, this one about sailing, and Marion waits for him to finish before she tells him about her experiences with sailing. They are different experiences. One is Nantucket, the other the Long Island Sound. The coolers have different contents (gin and limes in one, light beers in the other). They’ve stumbled on their one commonality, their one shared experience, but it takes a long time to admit to each other that they hate sailing. They admit that they’ve connected sailing with unhappy times from childhood. They order another round.
Marion’s music choices continue, and Nico slow-moans odd vowels, and Nathan’s eyes get wide.
“This is college,” he says.
“Me too,” Marion says, not elaborating. She doesn’t say that by college she means one semester, and even then, Velvet Underground came up in a conversation she overheard between classmates. She never listened to the album they were discussing but stored away the information. She thought it might be useful.
Marion thinks they stumbled out of the bar with stomachs full of beer and the glow of finding someone who likes their company, and Nathan offered to walk her home. He made the offer, but she believes it might have been her idea; she wanted Nathan to see where and how she lived. At some point they got very close to each other. Marion thinks she let him up to her apartment with the promise of tea.
Nathan has difficulty performing because they’ve had so much to drink. She doesn’t mind; she’s tired, and isn’t so sure she wants to have sex anyway. But she lets him lie on top of her, and she gently coaxes him back to life. In a rush he enters her, and it’s the first time she’s had sex without a condom, and the feeling breaks her apart. Nathan’s selfishness courses through her, but she feels entirely required.
Narrative Structure