Light Years Page 6

  I realized that I had only ever seen Hen on her time off, when she was lounging, sipping a drink, taking it extremely easy, and I’d always believed that she was not a hardworking person. Now I saw that she was such a slow-moving slug during her downtime because she had so little of it.

  Hen had three bedrooms in her apartment. Since her bedroom had its own bathroom, I had the hall bathroom and shower all to myself, something I’d never had before. Hen’s kitchen was large, with pale cabinets that hid the oven and fridge. It was very modern and sharp and clean. It was also very empty.

  That first morning, after saying a sleepy good-bye to Hen in her purple business suit and towering heels, I stumbled into the kitchen looking for breakfast. All I found was some instant Nescafé powder, no sugar. The fridge held a carton of milk, greenish cheese, and a shriveled little pear. Clearly, Aunt Hen was not putting on her hated pounds at home.

  I made myself a cup of coffee and wrote a grocery list as I nursed it, making a face at its watery bitterness. But there was no time to do anything about breakfast now. I put on my uniform, assessed it in the mirror, and still felt a small thrill to see a soldier staring back. I practiced making a blank face so that I looked tough and unapproachable, then headed off to my new office.

  I caught a bus and tried not to think about my stomach when the bus stopped by a bakery and the smell drifted in through the open windows. Cruel, just cruel. I told my stomach to stop whining. You’re in the army now.

  Every morning I’d get up, get ready for work, walk three blocks, catch two buses, and stand in morning formation. After work, I’d catch two buses back home, walk three blocks, enter a quiet and empty apartment, and eat dinner alone in front of the television. Once a week I had overnight duty and I spent the night on the base in a barracks room with three other girls. Irit and Leah were both stationed nearby and we managed to see each other, though usually only on Friday nights. When Irit came, she spent the night with Leah or me, since she lived over an hour away. Most nights I was in bed by ten, out of it by six. It was my first taste of true privacy and solitude. My first taste of loneliness.

  Aunt Hen didn’t have nearly as many glamorous parties as I’d always imagined. In two months she only had two functions, and I tagged along for one of them. It was a hugely boring affair and I finally understood why my parents were not more impressed with her lifestyle. It was glitzy, true, but deathly dull and more an extension of work than I had pictured. Conversations buzzed around a certain merger and one red-faced CFO who was caught in an extremely embarrassing situation with his young male assistant. As soon as people heard I was still a soldier, they’d ask me where I was stationed and what I was doing, and then pat me on the head. Sometimes literally.

  In my third month at work, I stepped out of my cubicle and into the makeshift kitchen so that I could take my headache pills without any badgering from my co-workers. I had developed chronic headaches, dull and steady behind my right eye. There was someone in the kitchen heating leftovers in a dingy plastic container, and when he saw me choke down the pills he looked mildly concerned. I rummaged through the communal fridge to prove that I didn’t just skulk into the kitchen to take medication (which I did) and found an apple. I wiped it on my shirt in a halfhearted effort to clean it.

  “Do you want some?” he asked, tipping his head at the rotating container in the microwave. “If that’s all you brought for lunch, I have more than enough for two.”

  I raised a doubtful brow.

  “Thanks, I’m fine.” I showed him my apple. I didn’t know who he was. He looked about my age, maybe a couple of years older because he was an officer, and you had to have been in the army longer before you could be one. He was tall and very dark, so that his blue eyes were almost startling when you looked him full in the face. If I hadn’t felt slightly cornered, I would have thought he was cute.

  “You might be having headaches because you aren’t eating right.”

  “How did you know I had a headache?”

  “You keep rubbing your right temple,” he said.

  I dropped my arm.

  “You’re too skinny.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Sometimes officers let their responsibilities go to their heads. I was not about to let him order me to gain weight. I did notice that he had nice hands, broad across with long, tapering fingers. It was almost a shame he was so annoying.

  “Who are you, my mother?”

  He started to smile, stopped, tilted his head, and looked at me. Finally he stammered a bit, cleared his throat and said, “What I meant to say was, do you want to go out sometime?”

  Well, that was rich. “Do you even know my name?”

  “Sure.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You’re Maya Laor, you work for Lieutenant Colonel Beral, and you’ve been here for a couple of months, plus or minus a few days.” He grinned and his eyes crinkled so that only a wedge of blue showed.

  Had he been spying? The movie I’d watched the night before was all about a charming but demented stalker.

  “How do you know who I am? And who are you?”

  “Dov Morelan. I work with intelligence one floor down. Don’t freak out. I saw you walk to work a few times, asked around, and found out. You don’t exactly blend in with the crowd.” That was an odd compliment. Did he mean that I was pretty? Or just strange-looking? “I’ve been having lunch here all week, but this is the first time I’ve seen you.”

  “I usually skip lunch.”

  “Then no wonder you’re downing pills like candy. Come on, let me take you out.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” The weird thing is I was tempted. He followed me to my desk and leaned a hip against it.

  “So what are you working on?”

  “Can’t you take a hint?” I asked in disbelief. He looked very comfortable there, leaning against my cluttered desk. I tried to look cold and uninterested, but he was cute. He could also get in a bit of trouble, a lieutenant flirting with a private. I could feel people staring at us.

  “What?” he raised his hands as if I held him at gunpoint. “I’m just being friendly.”

  “I’m not interested.” I tried to talk quietly, but I knew I was going to get ribbed for this no matter how softly I spoke. Good-looking officer, not from our floor, asking me out? Oh yeah, I was going to get a lot of grief for this.

  “Who said I’m interested?” he asked.

  “You asked me out to lunch.”

  “That was out of pity, sweetheart.”

  “What?”

  The fact that I just squeaked like a mouse wasn’t a good thing. The fact that he threw his head back and laughed wasn’t so good either. “Kidding. I’m just kidding.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “I’ve been told.” He straightened off my desk and winked. “See you around, Private Maya.”

  “Sure, whatever.” But I turned back to my computer and had to fight a silly grin that kept wanting to take over.

  Not quite love at first sight, but that was me, I guess. Give me a glass slipper and I’d twist my ankle and shatter the shoe.

  The first time we went out for lunch, a week after our first meeting, Dov ordered for me before I had the chance. When he saw the look on my face, he had the good grace to look a little abashed.

  “I hope that’s all right with you,” he said. “I come here a lot, I know what’s good.”

  “Next time a simple recommendation will be fine.” I was torn between anger and laughter. “Tell me, did you ever go to flight school?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because the only people I’ve ever met who are as arrogant as you are pilots. Do you usually order for people?”

  “Only when I’m trying to impress them.”

  “Well, stop it. Because if you order my dessert, I’m leaving.” I meant to sound peeved, but he just laughed and I was surprised to find that I found it funny too.

  When
the waiter came back, before Dov could say a word, I ordered two coffees and two desserts. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, and smiled.

  “I knew you were going to do that,” he said.

  “And I knew you knew,” I said sweetly. “But I decided to do it anyway.”

  He burst out laughing. I returned to the office in a better mood than I’d been in for weeks.

  I didn’t want to tell anyone about this date. It didn’t seem to mean anything yet, and I didn’t know enough about him. If he was a player or had already dated everyone else in the office, I didn’t want to be made fun of. But gossip spread in the office like mold on damp bread. Just because I didn’t tell anyone about it didn’t mean people hadn’t noticed.

  “Maya, you dog!” Ilana caught my arm as I walked down the hall. “How long were you planning to hide it?” Ilana, with her hennaed hair and love of heavy gold jewelry, was my age, twice my weight, and half a head shorter. She was also better informed than the Mossad.

  “Hide what?” For a moment I really didn’t know what she meant.

  “ ‘Hide what?’ she asks,” she scoffed, and laughed loudly. “I’m talking about the fact that you tried to hide that amazing piece of flesh drooling after you. We’re all ready to melt from those looks he sends you. I don’t know how you do it, honey, three months in Tel Aviv and you’ve got the hottest man in the building after you.”

  We were just standing out there in the hall. Anyone could walk by and hear her. I could feel my face heat up.

  “Do you mean Dov?”

  “Who else?” She mocked. “Who else could I possibly mean?” She leaned in. “I hear he’s unbelievable in bed. You’re in for a good time.” Her face was so near mine that I could see where her dark lip liner veered off her lip like a blip on a heart monitor.

  I was embarrassed, annoyed, and just a tiny bit flattered that I was dating such a catch. But annoyance won out.

  “That’s disgusting,” I said. “Besides, I thought you tried out everyone in the building. How great can he be if you haven’t slept with him yet?”

  She blinked in surprise.

  “I’ve got to run,” I said. “See you later.” I took off before she could say anything. Ilana laughed behind me and I wanted to kick myself. My mouth, I swore, was not always connected to my brain. After she stopped laughing, I could feel her staring at my retreating back, speculating.

  That Friday night, I waited at the crowded bus station for my bus to arrive. I was meeting my high school friend Daphna in South Tel Aviv, where most of the pubs and clubs were. Dov was going to be there. I was jostled forward as a mother and daughter brushed by me. People stood closer here in Tel Aviv than in Haifa, bumping, touching. I had almost gotten used to it.

  I had spent nearly two hours getting ready, blasting U2 on my CD player, practicing my dance moves in the mirror. I finally settled on low-slung black pants and a dark-red shirt that rode high, exposing my navel. I had recently invested in half a dozen thongs and two push-up bras—things I never paid attention to in high school. But living with Aunt Hen was an education. She might rarely be at home, but when she was, she noticed things, whether it was water spots on her marble counters or a faint stain on my favorite white shirt. She was the one who had pointed out that my panty line was showing the last time I’d worn these pants.

  “It’s embarrassing,” she said. “You don’t want people to be able to see your underwear, you want them to guess.”

  “Guess what?”

  “Is she or isn’t she wearing any?”

  “Ha, ha.”

  She lifted her brows. “Trust me.”

  I hadn’t gotten used to wearing thongs yet, though when I confessed to Daphna that I’d bought some, she swore they get to be more comfortable than regular panties. This was only my third time wearing one and I was very conscious of it. Also, my breasts were up higher than usual, pushing out, so when I looked down, I could actually see them rising out of my shirt. I felt very sexy but also slightly off balance. I didn’t quite know this new person I’d become. I liked her, but I didn’t know her.

  As I waited for the bus, I shook out a cigarette and dug through my purse for my matches. I wasn’t perfect at lighting a cigarette yet. There was a style to it, a way to do it fluidly, to look like a black-and-white photo from the forties. But I couldn’t bring myself to practice in the mirror. That seemed a little stupid, even for me.

  After losing two matches to the slight breeze in the open station, I was lit and glowing. I took a deep drag and blew out the smoke in twin streams from my nose, like a dragon. I didn’t really like smoking yet, didn’t like the way it tasted, but there was no better way to keep your hands occupied. My stomach was full of nervous butterflies and my heart was skipping just a little too fast.

  Dov will be there tonight, I thought for the thirteenth time. Not because of me, but because he was good friends with Daphna’s new boyfriend. Small world. Maybe. Or maybe he’d decided to come because he knew I would be there. My heart rate kicked up a little more and the cigarette trembled on its way up. Be cool. I tried to think of how Hen would handle him, but failed. Forget Aunt Hen. I tried to remind myself that he was chasing after me, not the other way around. I wasn’t sure what I felt for him yet, but my stomach and my damp palms were telling me they knew exactly what they thought of him. He was sexy and fine and Ilana wasn’t the only one who’d made some jealous little comment about him after our one lunch date.

  The bus arrived just as I finished my excellent pep talk. I tossed my ciggie onto the ground, making sure to step on it and crush it out before climbing onto the bus, about as steady on my high heels as a rowboat tied to a pier. I found an empty seat midway down the aisle and plopped down, my mind full of fantasies and lectures and nervous excitement. Would we kiss? Would he try? Should I let him?

  The bus pulled out with a lurch. There were people standing in the aisle and they all swung forward and then back again, like seaweed in a shallow sea pool. A young man sat next to me, looking out the window. He was dark-skinned and growing a wispy mustache that made him seem very young, probably a waiter or busboy coming home from work. I looked away from him and saw an older woman holding onto the strap above my seat. Her hair was covered by a black kerchief framing a round face with sagging jowls. She looked sixty, though she might have been younger. I could never tell when they were covered up like that. I was mildly surprised that no one had offered her a seat. Someone should have. I glanced down and saw her ankles were large and puffy above her tan-colored shoes. I looked at the people sitting down but with the exception of my seatmate and me, everyone else was older.

  I stood up.

  “Giveret,” I said in Hebrew. “You can have my seat.”

  She sat down without hesitation, pushing me slightly with her bulk. I staggered and grabbed for the handhold she had just vacated. She mumbled something at me, maybe “thank you.”

  I had expected something a bit more grateful.

  The waiter-boy turned and looked at me. I looked away. I suddenly felt foolish with my pushed-out breasts and sexy clothes. I reached up with my other hand and grabbed a pole for better balance, trying to ignore the fact that it made my shirt ride high above my waist. Most people just take a cab when they go out on Friday night, but I wanted to save the money. I was beginning to think taking a taxi might be worth the extra expense.

  The bus stopped several times, and after ten minutes I found a free seat, which I wasn’t about to give up any time soon.

  The waiter-boy kept looking at me, but I ignored him. When the seat behind me opened up, he moved into it. I could feel his eyes boring holes in my back.

  I turned in my seat and glared at him. “What do you want?”

  He seemed slightly surprised. “This seat was open, I can sit wherever I want to.”

  “Well, stop staring at me.” I was sure he would try some stupid pick-up line and I was already annoyed with myself for dressing this way.

  “You d
id a good thing, giving up your seat.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, staring fixedly at a spot near my right shoulder. The words were grudging, like he wished he didn’t have to say them.

  “Oh.” Now I really felt stupid. “Thanks.”

  He got off a few stops later and I looked out the window until he passed. As the bus pulled away, I finally relaxed. My thoughts drifted back to Dov and his brown hair that looked so soft. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to happen tonight. I hoped he was a good kisser. Would I find out?

  I got off at my stop and hurried over to Leila, the pub where we were meeting. Of course, after scanning the crowded place, I realized I was the first to arrive. After working my way to the bar, I ordered a rum and Coke.

  Leila was packed with tiny round tables that had four, five, sometimes six people crowded around them, drinking beer or cocktails, nibbling on the olives and peanuts that came to every table. The walls were painted a deep lilac with silver stars, comets, and solar-system swirls twinkling all around. I tried to see if they’d painted any real constellations, but it all looked random.

  Someone came up and stood next to me at the bar.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Daphna yelled in my ear, and then she gave me a wet kiss on the cheek. “I’m late, I’m late.”

  “For a very important date,” I said, but she didn’t get the Alice in Wonderland reference.

  “Everyone else is waiting outside. We can’t get a table here so we’re going someplace else. Are you going to finish that?” She pointed to my drink.

  “All yours.”

  She downed it and we left.

  Outside, Dov and Bar were waiting. Bar had just bought a tiny two-door hatchback, and he’d parked it up on the curb with the hazard lights flashing as they waited for us. Dov got out and tilted the seat forward so Daphna and I could get in behind him. I smiled and he smiled back. I brushed by him as I got into the car.