{"id":2766,"date":"2018-11-05T09:00:58","date_gmt":"2018-11-05T16:00:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=2766"},"modified":"2018-11-05T09:00:58","modified_gmt":"2018-11-05T16:00:58","slug":"lilas-crisis","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/2766","title":{"rendered":"Lila’s Crisis"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Lila's<\/a><\/p>\n

On a warm September day in Los Angeles, Lila and Desiree are having salads and smoothies for lunch at Boffo<\/i>, a hip eatery on Sunset Boulevard. Lila is thirty-three, Desiree twenty-nine. Lila\u2019s mother is descended from Wisconsin Swedes, her father a Chicagoan descended from Greeks. Desiree\u2019s father is an African American from Atlanta, her mother a Latina from Dallas. Both Lila and Desiree are waiters at Elusive<\/i>, a restaurant in Beverly Hills known for super-elegant ambience, fabulous food, exquisite waiters, and a clientele from the high end of show biz.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait, wait, wait,\u201d says Desiree, her accent southern. \u201cWho\u2019s Lorenzo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOur new sous chef,\u201d says Lila, surprised Desiree doesn\u2019t know. \u201cLorenzo Balotelli. Don\u2019t you just love that name? Balotelli. And don\u2019t you just love his voice? That deep baritone with a subtle British accent, yet he\u2019s so obviously Italian. And he\u2019s so cheerful. The kitchen has been so happy since he started.\u201d She sighs. \u201cTwo weeks and three days ago. But who\u2019s counting?\u201d<\/p>\n

Desiree squints at Lila. \u201cYou have a crush on him<\/i>? The fat guy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think he\u2019s fat?\u201d says Lila, mimicking Desiree\u2019s squint. \u201cNot just husky?\u201d<\/p>\n

Desiree gapes at Lila. \u201cYou crazy, girl? That man is carrying twenty pounds he most definitely does not need.\u201d Her squint returns. \u201cWhat about Cameron? I thought you were engaged. He was swarming all over you three weeks ago, and you were lovin\u2019 it, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2026 I did give him a tentative Yes,\u201d says Lila, wincing. \u201cBut he\u2019s not exactly\u2026 intellectually\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d says Desiree, aghast at this heretofore hidden side of Lila. \u201cHe\u2019s handsome and rich and he\u2019s got two big movies about to open and another three coming fast behind. No offense, honey, but you\u2019re not gettin\u2019 any younger. You don\u2019t want to blow this. Trust me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, but\u2026\u201d Lila pauses portentously. \u201cThe more I get to know Cameron, the less I find we have in common.\u201d<\/p>\n

Desiree grimaces. \u201cThat\u2019s not what you said when you got back from Puerto Vallarta. You said you were wild about him. You said the sex was stupendous. Didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was three months ago,\u201d says Lila, looking at Desiree and thinking I wonder if she would still be my friend if she thought I was carrying twenty extra pounds.<\/i> \u201cWe were so<\/i> stoned the whole time, I\u2019m not even sure we left LA. And he gave me that incredible diamond bracelet and swamped me in luxury.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not seein\u2019 the problem here.\u201d Desiree frowns gravely. \u201cA life of luxury with a hot movie producer, plenty of good weed and good sex? What\u2019s not to like?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just that\u2026 there isn\u2019t much there, if you know what I mean.\u201d Lila shrugs. \u201cHe\u2019s not\u2026 deep. Not even a little bit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me ask you this,\u201d says Desiree, swirling her wine. \u201cYou ever known a really rich guy who was deep?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lila reviews the rich guys she\u2019s been involved with over the last seven years and shakes her head. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI rest my case,\u201d says Desiree, smiling smugly. \u201cThis is the game, baby. And you\u2019re about to win. So I suggest you stick with the program, close the deal with Cameron, and get that deep stuff with your girlfriends. You know? That\u2019s my plan once I land somebody like Cameron.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Home to her sweet little apartment in Hollywood, Lila is tempted to call her mother in Sunnyvale and tell her about Lorenzo, but instead of calling, she sits down with pen and paper and starts writing a letter. During her first three years in college, Lila wrote hundreds of letters to her mother and sister and best friend Carlotta, and dozens of letters to her father, too, but none since college.<\/p>\n

Dear Mom,<\/i><\/p>\n

I know. A letter. What\u2019s gotten into me? <\/i><\/p>\n

That\u2019s all she writes because she knows what\u2019s gotten into her. She wants to date Lorenzo, though she knows if Cameron finds out, he\u2019ll be furious and break up with her and\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cUnless,\u201d says Lila, speaking to her cat Witti, short for Wittgenstein, \u201cwe call the first date with Lorenzo a business meeting since I am aiming to be a restaurant manager and he\u2019s worked in several famous restaurants.\u201d<\/p>\n

The large gray cat drowsing on the sunny windowsill blinks at Lila as if to say Sounds like a plausible fib.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

A few days later, Cameron goes to New York for a week of high-level hob-knobbing, and Lila has her first date with Lorenzo, lunch at Gunga<\/i>, a Brazilian Indian restaurant in Santa Monica owned by Lorenzo\u2019s friends Kabir and Eloa.<\/p>\n

Midway through their scrumptious meal, in answer to Lila\u2019s question about how he became a chef, Lorenzo says, \u201cSo there I was in Paris, twenty-five-years-old, doing research at the Biblioth\u00e8que de la Sorbonne for my doctoral thesis on the influence of Neostoicism on the philosophy of Montesquieu, specifically regarding the necessity of separation of powers in government, when it occurred to me, after several embarrassing and frustrating experiences in caf\u00e9s and restaurants, that I did not know enough practical French to order a nourishing meal, which realization had the effect of a timely slap from a Zen master. So I gave up my academic pursuits, went to England and took lodgings in the garret of a friend studying Anthropology at Oxford, got a job busing tables in a pub, the cook there was something of a genius with fish, and I was thereafter, forgive me, hooked on cooking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a bizarre coincidence,\u201d says Lila, clearing her throat. \u201cI have a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy. My senior thesis was\u2026 now don\u2019t laugh\u2026 Kafka and the Existentialists<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lorenzo laughs uproariously. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he says, red-faced with mirth. \u201cMy<\/i> senior thesis was\u2026 wait for it\u2026 The Trouble With Sartre<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lila laughs harder than she\u2019s laughed in ages and says, \u201cThere should be a law against twenty-two-year-olds writing about Existentialism.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d says Lorenzo, still laughing. \u201cSpeaking of the necessity of separation of powers.\u201d<\/p>\n

And now, quite unexpectedly, Lila bursts into tears and cries for a long time, her unbridled sorrow causing Lorenzo to cry, too.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

That night at Elusive<\/i>, the last diners served, Lorenzo intercepts Lila in the kitchen and hands her an envelope. \u201cI had a wonderful time with you at lunch today. Wrote a little something for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lila looks at the envelope and nearly gives it back for fear that further intimacy with Lorenzo will either create an uncomfortable situation for her at the restaurant or make it impossible for her to continue her involvement with Cameron; and though she doesn\u2019t love Cameron, he is a rising star, handsome and wealthy, and he brings her into contact with other such men and women, and this is the game Lila has been playing in earnest for seven years now, so\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d she says, putting the envelope in her pocket. \u201cGotta run.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Dear Lila,<\/i><\/p>\n

I am fairly certain your tears today were not the result of my laughing at the title of your senior treatise, mine being equally youthful; and I comfort myself with the knowledge that crying is good for us, especially if we haven\u2019t had a good cry in a long time.<\/i><\/p>\n

I know you have a fellow, as my mum calls boyfriends, but I hope that won\u2019t preclude our socializing in the future. I appreciate so many things about you and I am keen to know more. How about a picnic lunch at the beach tomorrow, a stone\u2019s throw from my hovel in Venice?<\/i><\/p>\n

Warmly,<\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Lorenzo<\/i><\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

The next morning at nine, in a large windowless room with hardwood floors and gigantic mirrors covering the walls, Lila and twelve other women are sweating profusely as they perform a grueling dance and exercise routine accompanied by a relentless hip hop rhythm track, the routine featuring dozens of squats and kicks and leg lifts and all manner of jazzy moves\u2014the name of the hour-long class A-List Booty<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re dragging, Mary,\u201d shouts Chita, the draconian instructor who is simultaneously executing the punishing routine and haranguing her disciples. \u201cYou call that a kick, Leslie? Hit the fuckin\u2019 roof, girl. Move it, ladies. That window of perfection started closing when you were eighteen, and the only way to keep it open is to work your butts off. Those men don\u2019t want you for your brains, girls, they want your booty. Now kick it, Angela. Faster Lila. Faster, girl. Stay on the beat.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Driving home from the gym, Lila gets a call from Cameron in New York, his somewhat nasal voice coming through a speaker in the ceiling of her Audi. \u201cWhat\u2019s happening, cute stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just finished working out,\u201d she says, never comfortable talking on the phone while driving. \u201cNow I\u2019m on my way home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMiss me?\u201d he asks, his tone implying she must.<\/p>\n

And though she knows she is expected to say, \u201cYou know I do, babe. Can\u2019t wait to see you again,\u201d she cannot bear to answer him, and so she touches her phone and terminates their connection; and when he calls back, she doesn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

An hour later, as she is about to leave for Lorenzo\u2019s place in Venice, Lila calls Cameron on her landline phone and says, \u201cSorry about that. My phone just suddenly died, and there I was yacking away in a traffic jam when I realized you weren\u2019t there. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you call me immediately when you got home?\u201d he asks, sounding deeply aggrieved.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did. I am. I went to Trader Joe\u2019s and the farmers market, and now I\u2019m home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should always<\/i> have a second phone with you,\u201d he says sternly. \u201cI don\u2019t appreciate being cut off like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell I don\u2019t appreciate your tone of voice,\u201d she says, trembling with indignation. \u201cI didn\u2019t do anything terribly wrong and I don\u2019t deserve to be chastised. It\u2019s not a big deal. Just let it go. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I won\u2019t let it go, because it\u2019s not okay. What\u2019s the matter with you? How dare you talk to me like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, Cameron,\u201d she says, fighting her impulse to hang up. \u201cYou think I\u2019m ten-years-old? You should hear yourself. You sound like a pompous idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTake that back,\u201d he growls. \u201cOr it\u2019s over between us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you serious?\u201d she says, shivering at the thought of how close she came to marrying this man.<\/p>\n

\u201cApologize, Lila! Now!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a chance,\u201d she says, hanging up.<\/p>\n

Now she waits a moment before leaving her apartment, hoping Cameron won\u2019t call back, but he does; and to her horror, he leaves a message apologizing for being so insensitive, and blaming his behavior on the terrible stress of vying for the movie rights to the red hot Young Adult novel Teen Vampire Zombie Detective<\/i>\u2014his apology ending with a tearful marriage proposal.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

On the Venice beach, sitting side-by-side on a large green towel, Lila and Lorenzo dine on goat cheese and avocados and tomatoes and black olives and sour dough French bread, their beverage a delicious cabernet they drink from flat-bottomed coffee mugs unlikely to topple over on the sand.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love this parade,\u201d says Lorenzo, gesturing at the ceaseless passersby on the beach, some fully clothed, some wearing next to nothing. \u201cAren\u2019t we a most amazing species?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are,\u201d says Lila, grateful for the soothing effect of the wine\u2014Cameron\u2019s tearful proposal still ringing in her ears.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how did you make the leap from Philosophy to waiting tables at Elusive<\/i>?\u201d Lorenzo smiles admiringly at her. \u201cYou are, you know, one of the very finest waiters I\u2019ve ever had the pleasure of watching. You are never in a hurry, you are gracious and strong, never fawning, never diffident, and always beautifully poised, like a jujutsu master calmly prepared for any possibility.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow kind of you to say so,\u201d says Lila, ripping off a chunk of French bread and handing it to him. \u201cIf only I could live my life that way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that is<\/i> the trick, isn\u2019t it?\u201d he says, taking the bread from her and dipping it into his wine. \u201cWe meditate, if we do, so we can eventually carry that calm state into our everyday lives.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you meditate?\u201d asks Lila, who goes on binges of meditating and then inevitably falls off the wagon, so to speak, only to climb back on when the world becomes too much for her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do,\u201d says Lorenzo, sucking the wine from the bread. \u201cMost days. I try to sit for fifteen or twenty minutes in the hour before I go to work, and on Sundays I like to start my day with a cup of green tea and a good long sit. But enough about me. There you were, Philosophy degree in hand, twenty-two, and\u2026\u201d He arches an expectant eyebrow.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a back story,\u201d she says, sinking her bare feet into the sand. \u201cLila at twenty-two was very different than Lila at twenty-one and all the years before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI love back stories,\u201d he says, shifting his position to face her and not be distracted by the parade. \u201cAnd I love your voice. You would make a splendid narrator of books.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d she says, blushing. \u201cSo would you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d he says, blushing at her blushing. \u201cI keep interrupting. Go on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell you may not believe this, but\u2026\u201d She frowns, searching for the right words. \u201cI\u2019m having something of a\u2026 I wouldn\u2019t call this a breakdown, but a cataclysmic shift. Right now. This minute. Even as we speak.\u201d She looks into his eyes. \u201cMeeting you has precipitated a crisis in my life, and by crisis<\/i> I mean a moment of decision, only the decision is less about what<\/i> I\u2019m going to do than who<\/i> I choose to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand,\u201d he says quietly.<\/p>\n

She has a drink of wine and says, \u201cSo the back story begins when I was a little girl. A little\u2026 \u201c She pauses for a long moment, her eyes drawn to the waves breaking on the shore. \u201cChubby girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCute as the devil, I\u2019ll bet,\u201d says Lorenzo, nodding encouragingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo said my mom and dad and grandparents, but the key word here is chubby<\/i>, which I took to mean ugly<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho said that word to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople. Kids at school. Just\u2026 everybody.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut not your parents.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, never. But everybody else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lorenzo nods. \u201cGo on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I grew from chubby little girl to chubby big girl, and being chubby after Sixth Grade, my non-chubby girlfriends dumped me, the beautiful ones, so I buried myself in books and writing and studying and hanging out with other chubby not-beautiful girls. And boys didn\u2019t like us or even see us, and it didn\u2019t matter that I got good grades and played tennis and acted in plays, nor did it matter that I dieted until I thought I\u2019d die. The best I could do was stocky. And then I went to Stanford and majored in Philosophy and<\/i> Psychology, and I assumed I\u2019d remain in academia forever, where being chubby is not ideal, but it\u2019s not the end of the world.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lorenzo nods again, listening intently.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd then a very strange thing happened to me at the end of my junior year.\u201d She smiles wistfully at her memory of that incredible moment. \u201cI had just turned twenty-one and I was taking a very demanding jazz hip hop dance class, and at the end of one of those classes, Sara, this gorgeous woman with a perfect body, approached me and said, \u2018Hey, you wanna go clubbing with me on Saturday?\u2019 And I thought she was joking or talking to someone else, but she was talking to me. So I looked at my body in the mirror on the wall, something I studiously avoided because I hated the sight of my chubby self, only my chubby self wasn\u2019t there anymore, and in her place was a woman with my face and a body not unlike Sara\u2019s, and I could see why she wanted to go clubbing with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou had no inkling of this change until that moment?\u201d asks Lorenzo, frowning. \u201cNo whistles or catcalls as you strolled across the campus?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere might have been,\u201d she says, shrugging, \u201cbut I never would have thought they were whistling at me. I was blind to my body, thinking only that I was ugly. An ugly virgin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen all the while you were beautifully you,\u201d he says, holding up the bottle of wine. \u201cAnother splash?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, please,\u201d she says, proffering her mug.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you went clubbing and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe men liked me,\u201d she says, nodding. \u201cEven the handsome ones who had always been oblivious to me, and I could hardly believe what was happening because nothing in my life had prepared me to be attractive to anyone other than my mother and father and sister and my best friend Carlotta who was always telling me I was beautiful, though I never believed her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lorenzo waits for Lila to continue, and when she doesn\u2019t, he asks, \u201cSo how long did it take you to accept your new identity?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a very interesting question,\u201d she says, looking up at the sky and laughing a little. \u201cBecause for quite a long time, at least two years, I didn\u2019t really have a new identity to accept. I only knew myself as chubby, regardless of the woman who appeared before me when I looked in the mirror, so for the rest of my time at Stanford I just fumbled around in the dark, so to speak, having awful sex with clumsy young men and trying to finish my youthful dissertations in Philosophy and Psychology, after which I decided not to go to graduate school, but to move to Los Angeles, the apex of the cultural obsession with so-called beauty. To see what would happen to me here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what happened?\u201d asks Lorenzo, transfixed by Lila\u2019s story.<\/p>\n

\u201cI entered the Great Game,\u201d she says, smiling painfully. \u201cNot the one Kipling writes about in Kim<\/i>, but the game in which women gain social and economic power by aligning themselves with wealthy ambitious men until they reach the utmost heights they can before their youthful beauty fades, at which point a woman must marry the ultimate man she has conquered with her physical appeal and sexual prowess.\u201d<\/p>\n

A silence falls between them\u2014waves lapping the shore and people talking and boom boxes sounding in the near distance.<\/p>\n

Lorenzo wants to say something, but decides not to.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd just three weeks ago,\u201d she says, taking a deep breath, \u201cI was literally moments away from agreeing to marry a very successful movie producer with buckets of money and a mansion in Beverly Hills, when you came into the kitchen for the first time, wandered around in a trance of delight and said, \u2018Has there ever been a more Hegelian kitchen than this? Absolutely ideal.\u2019 And I couldn\u2019t resist answering, \u2018I suppose if you need a non-personal substitute for the concept of God, this kitchen will do as well as anything.\u2019 And you rushed over to me and cried, \u2018Schopenhauer,\u2019 and I said \u2018Gesundheit,\u2019 and you clapped your hands and said, \u2018Heaven.\u2019 After which, my crisis began.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou woke up,\u201d says Lorenzo, his eyes wide with delight.<\/p>\n

\u201cAroused by a rebel prince,\u201d she says, smiling shyly. \u201cAnd with her dormant intellect awakened after years of slumber, she finds herself on the edge of a precipice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr is it a precipice?\u201d he asks, taking up the tale. \u201cNo. As the fog clears, she sees there is no cliff, but rather a fork in the road of her personal evolution, one fork continuing as the broad highway known as the Great Game.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the other fork?\u201d she asks, holding her breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe other fork is a dirt track disappearing into a wilderness of uncertainty, the faded sign nailed to a tree saying Spirit Path<\/i>; and her challenge, should she take that less-traveled path, is to fall in love with uncertainty and trust she will find everything she needs along her way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that the path you\u2019ve taken?\u201d she asks, holding out her hand to him. \u201cFalling in love with uncertainty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m trying,\u201d he says, taking her hand. \u201cSometimes I step off the path without knowing I have, but as I get older, I\u2019m thirty-seven now, I seem to be getting better at finding the path again and getting back on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you teach me?\u201d she asks, playfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Lila,\u201d he says, laughing. \u201cBut I\u2019ll learn with you. What else are friends for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

On their fourth lunch date, Lorenzo\u2019s first time at Lila\u2019s apartment, they have delectable take-out Chinese and Lorenzo asks about the people in the photographs affixed to Lila\u2019s refrigerator.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s my dad in his vegetable garden in Sunnyvale,\u201d says Lila, pointing to a slender fellow in his sixties, holding a basket of red and yellow tomatoes. \u201cAnd this is my mom in the kitchen making salsa from those very tomatoes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI like your mom and dad,\u201d says Lorenzo, pointing to a photo next to the one of Lila\u2019s mother. \u201cAnd this must be your sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep, that\u2019s dear Gina,\u201d says Lila, nodding. \u201cShe\u2019s two years older than I am, but I think she looks much younger than me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t say so,\u201d says Lorenzo, shaking his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo?\u201d she says, feeling she might cry.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he says, moving the picture of Gina a little to reveal the photo mostly hidden behind her. \u201cWho are these two beautiful young ladies?\u201d<\/p>\n

The somewhat faded photo is of two teenaged women in summery dresses, their arms around each other as they smile at the camera.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my God,\u201d says Lila, tears springing to her eyes. \u201cI didn\u2019t think I still had that one. That\u2019s me with my best friend Carlotta our senior year in high school.\u201d She shrugs painfully. \u201cUsed<\/i> to be my best friend.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lorenzo looks at Lila and says, \u201cBut I thought you said you were chubby in high school. You\u2019re a svelte goddess in this picture.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I?\u201d says Lila, frowning at the photo and seeing a teenaged Lila who isn\u2019t chubby at all, nor is Carlotta, though in those days they both believed they were fat.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you got a photo album with pictures of you when you were a baby and a girl?\u201d asks Lorenzo, putting his arm around her. \u201cI love seeing childhood pictures of my friends. Next time you come to my place, I\u2019ll show you me as a cowboy when we lived in Texas when I was five. I was impossibly cute but had no idea I was until twenty years later.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lila finds two big photo albums on a high shelf in her closet, the volumes so dusty she has to clean them before they look at the pictures.<\/p>\n

She and Lorenzo sit close together on the sofa, the first of the albums open on their conjoined laps, and she steels herself for the ordeal of seeing her roly-poly self next to her skinny sister and skinny father and trim and sturdy mother\u2014the first several pictures of her as a baby and a little girl confirming her memory of being chubby.<\/p>\n

But the picture of her blowing out eight candles on her birthday cake is of someone neither fat nor thin, but very much like the other girls arrayed around the dining table helping her blow out the candles.<\/p>\n

On the next page is a marvelous picture of Lila and her sister Gina standing on a boulder beside a sparkling river. Gina is twelve, Lila ten. They are wearing shorts and T-shirts and baseball caps, and they might be twins\u2014skinny twins.<\/p>\n

Lorenzo hums approvingly and turns the page, and here is a photo of twelve-year old Lila on Halloween dressed as a hideous witch; and Lila is about to blurt, \u201cSee how fat I am?\u201d when she catches herself, looks closely at the picture and says, \u201cI got boobs before most of the other girls in my class and I was so embarrassed I started wearing baggy clothes so people wouldn\u2019t notice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wonder why?\u201d says Lorenzo, turning the page. \u201cI thought girls longed to have boobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

The last few pages of Volume One are full of pictures of cats and dogs and grandparents, and when Lorenzo reaches for Volume Two, Lila says, \u201cOh God, this is gonna be yucky junior high and high school pictures. I don\u2019t think I can handle this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you mind if I look?\u201d asks Lorenzo, waiting for her approval.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can if you want to,\u201d she says, getting up. \u201cCoffee?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLove some,\u201d he says, opening the album.<\/p>\n

Lila starts the coffee brewing and goes out onto her little balcony with a view of the narrow street crowded with cars parked in front of old apartment buildings, the air warm, the sky hazy; and she thinks of Carlotta and how a large part of her happiness until she was twenty-one came from her bond with Carlotta. And now I only know she\u2019s alive because I know my mother would tell me if Carlotta died.<\/i><\/p>\n

She goes back inside and finds Lorenzo pouring their coffee. He looks at her and says, \u201cSometimes you take cream, sometimes you don\u2019t, whereas I never do. But today I\u2019m having a spot of the white stuff, as my mum likes to say, just because. How about you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I\u2019ll have a spot of the white stuff,\u201d she says, watching his face. \u201cWhat did you think of the pictures?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI loved them,\u201d he says, adding cream to their coffees. \u201cEvery single one of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you think I was fat?\u201d she asks, clenching her teeth.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I thought you were lovely.\u201d He hands her a mug. \u201cAnd I loved seeing you with Carlotta, seeing how much you loved each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was us against the world,\u201d says Lila, her eyes filling with tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d says Lorenzo, putting a hand on her shoulder. \u201cI could see that, though your parents were there, too, and your sister, loving you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Three weeks later, on their ninth date, the first time they\u2019ve gotten together at night, their physical intimacy having progressed to long embraces and sweet kisses, Lorenzo and Lila are having supper in Lila\u2019s apartment: minestrone soup and rye bread and salad and red wine.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis soup is fabulous<\/i>,\u201d says Lorenzo, frowning at his bowl. \u201cShe\u2019s brilliant, lovely, learned and witty, and<\/i> she can cook?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother\u2019s recipe,\u201d says Lila, happier than she\u2019s been in a long long time. \u201cThose Wisconsin Swedes, you know. Masters of Italian cuisine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got the oregano just<\/i> right,\u201d he says, beaming at her. \u201cI\u2019m madly in love with you, Lila. That did it. Getting the oregano right.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sits down opposite him at her little table, gathers her courage, and says, \u201cWhat shall we do about it? Being in love with each other?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2026 I suppose we could go on being in love and see what happens. Yes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think that\u2019s a wonderful idea,\u201d she says, nodding. \u201cBut I\u2019m wondering about\u2026\u201d She gives him a long look. \u201cSex.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI love sex,\u201d says Lorenzo, nodding with her. \u201cOne of my most favorite things. But\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what?\u201d she asks quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2026 as insanely attracted as I am to you, and I don\u2019t use the word insanely<\/i> lightly, I would like us to know each other better before we\u2026 lose our minds together that way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d she asks, never having known a man to resist her sexually when she is so obviously desirous of sex with him. \u201cYou know me better than any man ever has, except maybe my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel like I\u2019m just getting to know you,\u201d he says, setting down his spoon. \u201cAnd you\u2019re just getting to know me. Not that I don\u2019t want to make love with you. I do, but\u2026 I am so enthralled by how we\u2019re both opening and changing, as if our relationship has set in motion a kind of dual metamorphosis, and something tells me it would be wise to let this continue until\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe emerge from our chrysalises?\u201d she says, trying not to laugh. \u201cAnd see what kind of butterflies we\u2019ve become?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething like that,\u201d he says, giggling.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, my love,\u201d she says, laughing with him. \u201cI\u2019ll wait as long as I can, but just so you know, I\u2019m ready whenever you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

fin<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

On a warm September day in Los Angeles, Lila and Desiree are having salads and smoothies for lunch at Boffo, a hip eatery on Sunset Boulevard. Lila is thirty-three, Desiree twenty-nine. Lila\u2019s mother is descended from Wisconsin Swedes, her father a Chicagoan descended from Greeks. Desiree\u2019s father is an African American from Atlanta, her mother […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[5058,5057,5054,5063,5068,5056,5053,5059,497,84,5066,5069,5060,3868,5067,5055,1323,5062,51,5065,5064,9,33,5061],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2766"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2766"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2766\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2769,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2766\/revisions\/2769"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2766"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2766"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2766"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}