Synopsis: She Met Beauty on Her Way Out

“Oh, honestly,” murmured Lucia, burying her face in her own hair. “I have been pretty occupied with him, haven’t I?”
“Let’s say preoccupied, and call it quits.”
“I don’t know what that means.” She rolled over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.
Queenie stroked her friend’s hair, thumbing through her curls. In spite of knowing how much Lucia did not like to be touched, Queenie had learned, after years of friendship, when to ignore this and when not to. Now was a good time, so she obliged with a head massage, and carefully separated her curls, as if to count them. She could see that the shield which Lucia dropped down over her eyes to stay questions and discourage sympathy was firmly in place. A bit of time was needed to lift the shield. She fished Charles Dickens from his place of abandonment, and finding her place, began to read again.
“Ask me what you want to ask.”
Bleak House was instantly forgotten, and the book was closed. Her mind had to lift itself from England in the 1800s, and return to the present. Good-bye Dickens.
“I’m sorry, Lucia—what was that?”
“Ask me. What you want to know.”
There was no need for pretension; between them, there never was.
“Alright, Lucia. What’s Jay like?”
“Blonde.”
“What?”
Lucia began to laugh dryly, recalling Jamie’s advice to her. “Never mind. I’m just referring to something Jamie said at work a while back.”
“All I know is, I asked what he was like, not what he looked like.”
“Most people ask what someone looked like first, you know.”
“I aint people,” said Queenie, in a flawless imitation of Lina Lamont.
“Right you aren’t. And you’re not a shimmering, glimmering star in the cinema firmament, either. You’re better.”
“So. What is he like?”
Lucia took a startlingly long time to answer.
When she spoke, she chose her words carefully. “He’s clever. But he practically hides it. He’s sly—you have to look out for him. He can be frustratingly irresistable. He works hard.”
Queenie was nodding at each description, but seemed to be waiting for more.
“And?”
“What do you mean, ‘and?’”
“Don’t beat around the bush. What else? Are you joyful in his presence?”
“Joyful.” Lucia repeated the little used word with raised eyebrows.
“Happy,” Queenie said, rolling her eyes.
“Sure. Anyway, I like being with him. He can’t seem to get enough of me, he’s crazy. You know what I hate?” she added suddenly, with feeling. “I hate that my heartbeat goes crazy when I see him. I hate it.” She fell back down, head turned away from Lucia.
“In any case, near or far past, you’ve never admitted something about your heartbeat like that.”
Lucia was silent.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lucia—“ said Queenie, and stopped.
“What.”
“There is something deeper, and more unique in you, than you care to admit! You haven’t found what you need to find and you won’t be restless about that. I think I’m saying that you may well have been better off alone than you are with Jay.”
Lucia stiffened next to her.
“Lucia…for God’s sake, how long have I known you? How well do I know you? There is something I know now, as well. I feel it in my gut. Jay may be great for someone else, but he does not deserve you, and that aside, he is not right for you, and he’s not helping you in anyway. In fact I think he’s helping you to lose yourself. Oh, I don’t know everything, obviously, but I do know some things, and I know them hard. How often do I actually come at you with a verbal two by four?”
“Never.”
Queenie was relieved that she answered. The silence had been a grey silence, weighted with opposition and feeling, and anxst. But Lucia, long and lovely Lucia, was silent again, and dark.
Queenie dropped her face in her palm, suddenly exhausted. Yet she was relieved that she had finally said something that she had been meaning to say. Lifting her eyes again, she pushed Charles Dickens off the bed, and he fell with a heavy thunk on the rug.
Lucia started, realized what she had done, and laughed, long and low. “Poor Charles.”
Thank God you’re laughing, thought Queenie. She became filled with love, was almost pained by it; she wanted to gather Lucia up like a child and rock her. Oh, Lucia. How much there is ahead that you must suffer.