Do you like tricks, Ms. Fitch?
“Perhaps try breathing diaphragmatically. Some meditation, acupuncture. Aromatherapy is always good, I find. Biofeedback. Physical therapy is a given, of course. It’s done wonders for me. I’d be happy to send Briana some videos. Some podcasts.”
“That’s kind of you,” her mother says warily.
Briana looks at me darkly, hopelessly. “She doesn’t want to fucking help me. She hates me.”
“Briana,” I say. “That simply isn’t true. I think you’re wonderful.”
The dean and her mother look so touched by my kind words. But Briana’s shaking her head. No. No, no, no.
“She’s lying! She doesn’t want me to be in the play! She said so yesterday!”
I look at her so pitifully, like the crazed wretch she is. Like I’m so very sorry for her. All that stress she must be under. How profoundly it’s clouding her understanding.
“It was never a question of what we wanted, Briana,” I speak so softly, so reasonably, to emphasize her loudness, her crassness. “We only raised concerns—very understandable concerns—about your health. We only wanted to give you an opportunity to heal. If we didn’t do that, what sort of monsters would we be, am I right?”
The dean and her father are nodding like this is all so reasonable. It makes such sense.
“But we’d love to have you back, of course,” I add.
“But—”
“In fact,” I tell them all, like I’ve really been considering, really giving it some thought. “I think absolutely she should be in the play. She obviously can’t return to the position as the lead, of course. That would be far too much of a strain. And we both know Briana was never a fan of Helen anyway.”
Briana glares at me.
“But the role of the aged King is serendipitously open. And I think she’d be perfect for it. And what would the play be without Briana, after all? I’m not sure if she’d want to work with me again, given her current feelings. But I’m absolutely willing to take her back. In fact, I’d love it.”
I can feel her looking at me now, shocked. Suspicious. Not a little afraid.
“She’s lying,” Briana says. I’m lying, I must be.
I only smile at her sadly. How sad that she sees such darkness, such subterfuge, when there is only light, a smile, a hand reaching out to her. A symptom of her condition.
But I can see there’s a small, sick part of her that’s pleased with my offer too. Her dull eyes flicker with it. Really? I’d really love it?
“Of course,” I add, “there are some risks, you understand. Given how you’re feeling these days. I just want to make sure those risks are understood by everyone, that the school won’t be responsible. Theater is very taxing, after all.” I look at her father and the dean, both of whom nod sensibly. I’m so sensible. “But if you’re willing to take the risk, then, of course”—I smile at Briana—“I’d love to have you.”
“Would you like that, dear? To be back in the play?” her mother asks her. She places a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, and for the first time, Briana doesn’t shrug it away. Her mother exchanges a pleased look with Mr. Valentine, who’s smiling now.
“A very, very generous offer, I think, Professor,” the dean says, still nodding at me approvingly.
Briana looks at me. I think she’s going to spit in my face. Scream, Fuck off. I wouldn’t go near you.
But she just nods sadly at the floor. “I’d like that,” she says at last, quietly, and then weeps.
“Wonderful!” The dean raps on his desk with his knuckles. Gold ring gleams on his finger like the ring of a king. He smiles at the swirling motes of dust. “It’s all settled, then, isn’t it?”
We watch Briana and her parents leave. I’m about to get up with them, but the dean makes a silent gesture at me to hang back, wait.
Wait? I think. Why? Isn’t it all settled?
“All right, Fauve, what’s this about?” the dean says. Impatient now. He looks openly at his watch. Jangles it on his wrist. It’s Saturday, for god’s sake. He should be miles away from us all on his boat, skirting the gray sea. But Fauve looks too happy. “There is one more thing I think we should discuss,” she intones. And then she pulls a plastic baggie from her pocket.
She holds it up gravely. Inside is what looks like a silky red handkerchief.
“What are we looking at?” the dean says.