“No.”
“At the end, he’s sorry. He’s just really, really sorry about everything, and that’s enough. Everyone forgives him. Shakespeare lets Leontes be redeemed even though he did all that evil stuff.”
Jule wanted to tell Paolo everything.
She wanted to reveal her past to him in its ugliness and beauty, its courage and complexity. She would be redeemed.
She could not speak.
“Ohhh,” said Paolo, drawing out the word. “We’re not talking about the play, are we?”
Jule shook her head.
“I’m not angry with you, Imogen,” said Paolo. “I am crazy about you.” He reached out and touched her cheek. Then he ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “I’m sure your friend isn’t still angry with you, either, whatever happened when she was alive. You’re a top-notch, excellent person. I can tell.”
They had reached the front of the line. “Two cups of tea,” Jule said to the lady at the counter. Her eyes leaked even though she was not crying. She had to stop being emotional.
“This seems like a dinner conversation,” said Paolo. He paid for the tea. “Do you want to get dinner after the play? Or bagels? I know a pub that serves real New York bagels.”
Jule knew she should say no, but she nodded.
“Bagels, good. So for now, let’s talk about cheerful things,” said Paolo. They brought their drinks in paper cups over to a stand with milk and coffee spoons. “I take two sugars and a giant glug of cream. How do you drink it?”
“With lemon,” Jule said. “I need like four slices of lemon for tea.”
“Okay, cheerful, distracting things,” Paolo said as they walked to a table. “Shall I talk about myself?”
“I don’t think anyone could stop you.”
He laughed. “When I was eight, I broke my ankle jumping off the roof of my uncle’s car. I had a dog named Twister and a hamster named St. George. I wanted to be a detective when I was a boy. I made myself sick from eating too many cherries once. And I haven’t been out with anyone since you told me not to call you.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Liar.”
“Not one single woman. I’m here tonight with Artie Thatcher.”
“The friend of your dad’s?”
“The one I’m staying with. He said I hadn’t seen London if I hadn’t seen the RSC. And you?”
Jule was brought back to reality.
She was here with Forrest.
It had been stupid, unthinkably stupid, to let Paolo derailher.
She had been leaving the theater. But then he’d brushed her cheek with his lips. He had touched her fingers. He noticed her hands and he’d said God, she was pretty. He’d said he wanted to call her every day.
Jule had missed Paolo very much.
But Forrest was here.
They couldn’t meet. Paolo must absolutely not see Forrest.
“Listen, I have to—”
Forrest appeared at her elbow. He was languid and slouching. “You found a friend,” he said to Jule. He said it as if speaking to a puppy.
They had to leave immediately. Jule stood up. “I’m not feeling well,” she said. “I got a head rush. I’m nauseated. Can you take me home?” She grabbed Forrest’s wrist and pulled him toward the lobby doors.
