Atmosphere(57)

What was happening?

Joan’s chest grew hot, and she did not know what to say back. And so she did not say, “I love hearing everything you have to say” or “I think I’ve been pulled toward you since the moment I saw you.” She said, “I want to show you the way my mother serves bread.”

“Oh,” Vanessa said. “Okay.”

Joan took a slice of bread from the basket and covered every millimeter of it in a very thin layer of butter. She sprinkled it with salt first and then pepper. Evenly, lightly. And then she handed it to Vanessa.

Vanessa took it and bit into it. And her eyes went just the littlest bit wild.

“See?” Joan said.

“How is it so much better with just a little bit of salt and pepper on it?”

“I don’t know but I . . . I want to show you every good thing I’ve ever found,” Joan said.

The way Vanessa’s eyes crinkled at the sides . . . Joan knew that she would not need to find a way to tell Vanessa how she felt. Vanessa would understand it. Which meant Joan would not need to learn how to be anything other than who she already was.

Later, after Joan paid the bill and the waiter had left the table, Vanessa looked Joan square in the eye. “I love your dress,” she said. And then, in a low whisper: “And I want to take it off you.”

A heaviness took hold in Joan’s hips.

Joan rushed them toward the car. They did not make it back to the hotel. They pulled over on the side of a dark road and, urgently, recklessly, Joan let Vanessa cure what ached her.


At three in the morning, they were still awake. Joan’s head was on Vanessa’s chest as they lay in bed. It was hot, the blankets were off, the sheets barely pulled up to their waists. Joan was shocked at herself, how quickly she had learned to shed decades of inhibitions.

“. . . and then when I saw those drawings you did,” Vanessa said, laughing.

“The sketches were not of you!” Joan said. “They were of the stripper. What was her name? Raven!”

“Oh, I know. I could see that. They were of Raven . . .”

“Thank you.”

“. . . the one stripper in that joint who looked like me.”

Joan was embarrassed in a way that reminded her of being tickled as a child. “Unbelievable,” she said. “How would you even know what Raven looked like? You left early.”

“I left early because I could not stand to watch you stare at those women.”

Joan looked at her. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do.”

“You were . . . jealous.”

“I was jealous.”

Joan could feel her muscles starting to shake within her skin. She took Vanessa’s hand. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been jealous over me before.”

“They have,” Vanessa said. “You just can’t see half the things going on around you.”

She pulled Joan’s arm closer. “Wait, are you okay?” she asked as she put her hand on Joan’s forearm. Joan was not sure what she meant, but when she looked closer, she could see there were hives all over her arms. Joan then looked down at her chest. It was also bright red.

Vanessa leaned over her and checked her back.

“You’re breaking out,” she said. She sat up and then sat Joan up. “Do you think it’s something in the sheets? Do you want me to call the front desk and get new ones?”

“It’s fine, I feel fine.”

“You’re covered in hives.”

“I know, I can see that. But they don’t hurt. I don’t even feel them.”

“Should we at least get you in the shower? Maybe cold water would help?”

Joan lay back down and gestured for Vanessa to as well. “I’m fine, Vanessa. Truly.”

“Okay . . .” she said. “Does this happen a lot?”

Joan exhaled. “No, actually. It’s only happened one other time that I can think of.”

“When?”

Joan laughed. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Oh, now you have to tell me.”

Joan put the crook of her arm over her eyes. “It was my seventh birthday. My parents took me to Disneyland. And usually, even if it was my birthday, Barbara was the one who dictated what we would do. My parents were always saying, ‘Well, your sister might get upset if . . .’ But that day . . . well, I guess my dad knew someone who was in charge of scheduling the characters’ appearances, and he set it up so that I got to meet Minnie, Mickey, Donald, and Daisy all by myself. Just me. Even Barbara didn’t go.”

“And you broke into hives when you saw them?”

“I broke into hives walking over there. On the way across the park, I was walking just with my dad, and he explained where we were going and that it was a special thing, just for me and . . . I broke out into hives. And then I met them all, and I cried and could barely get up the courage to talk to them. I was just so happy. I remember it very clearly. That I could not believe I was talking to Minnie Mouse all by myself. That she was right there, and focused entirely on me. The hives went away later, after it was over. My parents called the doctor that night, and they said it was probably just excitement.”