‘The Whole Purpose and Meaning of Life’

This great urge to work, heavens, how well I understand it. I’ve never done a hand’s turn all my life.—baron nicholas tuzenbakh-krone-altschauer

My cellphone was dead. I plugged it into the charger and settled down to read Irina’s lines again. Graça, my impossibly pretty Portuguese freshman cousin who was sharing my room in Marianne’s condo, tiptoed into our room. She settled on my rose-colored quilt and looked at me with hurt violet eyes.

“Oh, I feel like such a rat, Graça. I should have asked Marianne to pick you up on our way to the Smokehouse. Did you get some dinner?”

Graça nodded.

“Did you have to walk home in the dark?”

The smile on Graça’s face needed no translation.

“So, he’s got a car. Nice catch, Graça!”

We giggled together for a moment, and then my reanimated phone beeped a message announcement. Cole! I pounced on the phone as Graça headed to the bathroom to wash her face for bed. As soon as I navigated through the voicemail system, Cole’s unmistakable self-possessed twang tickled my ear: “So, Bekah, I heard Muse is playing at the Hornèd Diamond tonight at midnight in Vegas. Derek Wu told me you like British bands, right? But . . . you’re not answering, so I guess I’ll take that chick in our ward, Nyx Hastings. Later.” I gaped at my phone as the simulated voice intoned, “Message received. Today at. Six. Eleven. p.m.” My clock radio read 8:53, but I still called Cole’s number back. He had to be joking.

He was on I-15, approaching St. George on his way to Las Vegas. I ended the call quickly.

Almost in tears, I stared at my four well-worn Muse albums, including the UK import. I pressed 2 on my cellphone to call Marianne. Her phone was turned off—so she must have still been in the movie. I brushed my teeth and curled up with Three Sisters until sleep overcame me. When my betta fish Pushkin started splashing around on Saturday morning, I was curled around the script like a lover.

* * * *

I had little time to savor tender moments with the Russian playwrights, though; it was a quarter to seven and my alarm clock was bleating. By eight o’clock I was installed behind the Plexiglas at Cougar Dental, filing and making appointments while Dr. Olson met patients who could only come in on Saturdays—he was saving up to buy a condo near Lake Powell. By three in the afternoon, I had seen so many insurance forms that my eyes were starting to blur. I was so focused that I did not notice that a tired Cole Douglas had come behind the desk until I felt his hot, moist breath on my neck.

“Oh!” I jumped, and my head collided with his nose.

“Nice to see you, too.” He held his finger to his nostril and tipped his head back.

“Oh my—” I rushed to the bathroom, pulled paper towels out of the dispenser one by one until I had a huge wad, and handed it to him. Red blood seeped through the white towels. “I’m so sorry, Cole; I am such a ditz; I’m so sorry!”

Cole laughed nasally. He smiled, crumpled the towels, and threw them at the wastebasket. The bloody paper bounced off the side and landed on the floor. Cole grabbed a chair and leaned back on it with his feet on the desk. “You’re also pretty sorry you missed the club last night, too. That was quite a party.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re not s’pposed to be back here.”

Cole reached out with an insanely muscular arm and stroked my elbow, “C’mon, Bekah, don’t be like that. I missed you, too. That Nyx chick is no fun—I think she’s a lesbian.”

“Cole!” I looked down, not sure whether I was sorrier about missing Muse or missing Cole’s flattering company.

“Since I had to endure a night with Nyx and without the pleasure of your company, you owe me.”

Janet, Dr. Olson’s secretary, popped her head in from the hallway and gave me a look that rivaled Medusa’s. Cole refused to leave until I promised to go out with him, so I consented to be picked up at seven thirty. I spent the rest of my shift wishing that I had done my hair that morning.

* * * *

A typical guy, Cole showed up at the condo in his red Chevy Silverado twenty minutes late, giving me more time to primp. We went to the Malt Shoppe, where half of our friends from the ward were congregated over fancy malts and old-fashioned hamburgers. Derek had the attention of the whole room as he recounted a scene from Fat Cats bowling alley earlier that day. Marianne, despite Trevor’s possessive arm around her, and his continual bids for her attention, was laughing hardest of all. She had brought her sparkly silver camera and was snapping pictures of all of us for her latest facebook album. I had such a great time munching on fries and hanging out that I didn’t mind when Cole realized that he had forgotten his wallet at home. I paid for his two double cheeseburgers—I owed him, after all—and next joined the gang in the parking lot. I settled on the running board of Cole’s truck and tried not to freeze as the inside jokes washed around me.

Under another streetlight and the steam from their own breath, another group of friends was joking and laughing. I caught a glimmer of short maroon hair—Nyx Hastings (from Richmond, Virginia; majoring in political science; served in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, Spanish-speaking) was watching me. Remembering what Cole had said about her earlier, I zipped up my parka and crossed my arms over my chest.

When he dropped me off, Cole leaned towards me with his arm behind my seat, but I pulled on the truck’s door handle and jumped out. The timing just wasn’t right for a kiss. Cole smiled and told me to have a nice night. See, I reminded myself, he can be a gentleman when he wants to be, and I didn’t stutter all night.