Chapter Ten
Tamsin
I have no idea what’s going to happen next.
What am I supposed to do now? After last night, I felt like I had a sword to carry into this battle that no one could stand against. I felt strong and centered in my beliefs and in myself.
How can I feel centered in someone else’s beliefs?
That’s literally what acting is.
The voice inside my head sounds like Joan’s, and I resent it.
But she’s not wrong. So, okay. It’s obvious when I look at Daniel that he’s just as flummoxed as I am. And he doesn’t have my experience in theater, so it’s up to me to make this scene work.
I take a deep breath.
“I know you probably want to get home to your family. But I also know what you spent your day doing, Doctor, and I want to talk to you about it.”
Daniel looks groggy but game. Props to him for not giving up on the spot.
“Are you planning to gun me down like George Tiller?”
George Tiller was the doctor shot by an anti-abortion extremist in a Kansas church.
Not bad, Daniel. Not bad at all.
“I didn’t shoot George Tiller,” I say. “I would never do something like that. I believe every life is sacred. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I want to talk to you.”
Daniel looks at his wrist as though at a watch.
“It’s been a long day. I’ll give you two minutes.”
I clear my throat. “Every life is sacred,” I say.
I’m repeating myself. Bad theater.
I try again. “As a doctor, didn’t you take an oath to do no harm? Isn’t it your job to protect life, not to take it?”
Better.
“If you think that’s somehow black and white, you don’t know anything about being a doctor.”
Daniel actually seems to be settling into this role. His arms are folded, he’s frowning, and he looks like he’s working hard to stay patient. He also looks a little supercilious, which is exactly how most doctors I’ve met look.
It suddenly occurs to me that he might do better in this scene than me.
Except, no way. I will not let that happen. Of the two people on stage right now, only one of them is an acting major.
“So you’re saying that in your opinion, it’s perfectly okay to kill babies?”
“A fetus isn’t a baby.”
“Oh, really? What about late term partial birth abortion? What about abortion after the fetus is viable? Isn’t that a baby?”
Daniel is doing a really good job of looking down his nose at me. Of course it helps that his nose is like a foot above mine.
“First of all, partial birth abortion is illegal, so that’s a straw man argument.”
I didn’t realize Daniel actually knew that.
“Second of all, do you know how many abortions are done late term, after the fetus is viable?”
Of course I do. But would my character?
“Too many,” I say.
“1.2%. And by the way, I’m not one of the doctors who performs that type of procedure, so if you want to fight with me about that it’ll be theoretical.”
Damn.
“But,” he continues, “if we’re going to talk about the most extreme arguments in this debate, what about the other side?”
“The other side?”
“Rape, incest, and the life of the mother. Do you believe abortion should be illegal in those cases? Would you force a victim of rape to carry a pregnancy to term against her will? Would you rather see a woman die than have an abortion, if her life is in danger?”
“Yes,” I say, thinking that my character would.
But that sounds too extreme. It’s not believable. If I’m taking this seriously, I have to make it believable.
“I mean, no. If the woman’s life is actively in danger, I think abortion is acceptable. It’s a terrible choice and a tragedy, but it should be legal.”
“What about women who’ve been raped? Do you want to see them forced to give birth?”
I remember Daniel’s DM last night, about his asshole housemate trolling me on Twitter. And it’s the asshole housemate I channel right now.
“Rape is a terrible thing. But you don’t have the right to kill a baby just because its life began in a terrible way. And besides,” I say, “we all know the rape argument is just an excuse for abortion on demand. If we make abortion illegal except in cases of rape, incest, and the life of the mother, then any woman with an unwanted pregnancy could just claim she was raped.”
I’m kind of on a roll now. A roll of horribleness.
“If you spent any time on a college campus, you’d know how bogus all these rape charges are. The truth is, girls like to have sex. They just don’t always like the consequences. And all that consent garbage goes against human nature, anyway. The male sex drive is all about dominance and being alpha. If you try to get men to follow all these consent rules you’ll kill their natural sexual urges, and then—”
“Bullshit.”
I stop, staring at Daniel with my mouth open. “What?”
“I said, bullshit. Rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power.”
He said that like he believed it. Is this acting, or real life?
“What are you—”
“Rape is one person using their power to take away someone else’s. It’s not an act of sex. It’s an act of violence. So you’re saying that a woman who’s been the victim of violence, who’s had control of her own body taken away from her by force, should have that control taken away again. You’re saying she should be forced to give birth against her will, after she was forced to become pregnant against her will. You’re saying that what she wants doesn’t matter. You’re saying that she doesn’t matter.” Daniel takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m saying she does matter. And I’m going to fight like hell to make sure people like you don’t take away her rights.”
I can’t think of a single thing to say after that.
And then, like during last class, the room bursts into applause.
“End scene,” Joan says. “Daniel, I wish I’d seen you in your junior high school play. Okay, who’s next? Charlie, who’s your partner?”
I don’t hear a word of Charlie’s scene, or any of the scenes that come after. Daniel is all I can think about.
He’s one hell of an actor. Or could that passion have been real?
He’s sitting in the front row, a few seats over from Joan. He keeps his eyes dutifully on the action happening on stage. He doesn’t turn around once, even though I’m sitting just two rows behind him and a little to the left.
I decide to talk to him after class. He stays behind to ask Joan something, and I leave with everyone else. But then, like Daniel did last time, I wait in the shadows under the stairwell.
I count the students leaving. There are sixteen of us altogether. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Just Joan and Daniel left in there now. Then the door opens and they come out, still talking.
I step in front of them. “Sorry to interrupt, but…could I talk to you for a second?” I ask Daniel.
Joan smiles. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “Good work today, you two. See you next time.” Then she leaves, her shoes echoing on the linoleum floor.
Neither of us says anything until the exit door closes behind her.
Then:
“What’s up?” Daniel asks. His expression is curious, and there’s a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth.
I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I just wanted to know if you meant it. What you said in our scene.”
He doesn’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about, which I appreciate.
“About rape? Yeah, I meant it. I’m not that good an actor.”
I take a step closer to him. It’s dead quiet in this hallway, and one of the fluorescent bulbs above us is out. One side of Daniel’s face is lit and the other is in shadow.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
He shrugs. “This whole damn class is like a personal question. What’s one more?”
“Do you know someone who was raped?”
I hold my breath waiting for the answer. I’m not sure I should have asked it, but it’s too late to take it back now.
The lighting makes it hard to read his expression. I look into his eyes—they’re dark blue, almost navy—and I can’t tell what he’s thinking, or if he’s angry with me.
With half his face in shadow he looks almost…I don’t know, dangerous. Which is ridiculous, because Daniel Bowman is probably the least dangerous guy I’ve ever met. Dyshell said he doesn’t even drink.
On the other hand, he is a football player. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Andre and Will, it’s that anybody willing to get pounded on that field day in and day out is tough. And capable of violence, even if they only ever express it through the game.
I can’t read Daniel’s expression, but something about him right now—the way he’s holding himself, maybe—makes me very aware that he’s capable of violence.
Maybe he’s thinking of the girl he knows who was raped.
“No,” he says, just as I’m reminding myself that he hasn’t answered my question yet. “Not raped.”
Something tells me that’s far from the whole story. But I can’t bring myself to ask anything else.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry. It’s just that in our scene, you…”
“What?” he asks after a moment.
“You were kind of…intense. In a good way,” I add. “I mean, you did a great job.”
The corner of his mouth goes up again.
“You only think that because I was taking your side of the argument.”
“But you said you agreed with part of my argument. At least…maybe I’m assuming too much. If you got your way and abortion was banned, would you want to see exceptions for rape, incest, and the life of the mother?”
“Yeah.”
I guess that’s something.
Arguments rise up inside me about the other reasons women choose abortion—women like Izzy and my friend from high school. But the truth is, I wish we could talk about something else for a while.
We could if we were friends. We could talk about lots of things.
But we’re not friends. And it doesn’t seem likely that we ever will be.
“Hey, Tamsin?”
He’s going to tell me he has to go now.
“I know, it’s getting late. I’ll see you next—”
“I’m going to take you out on a date.”
I blink.
“I’m sorry, what?”
That quirk at the corner of his mouth has turned into a full-on grin, and it’s sexy as fuck.
“You heard me.”
“But that’s—I don’t—why would you—”
I can’t think how to finish any of the sentences I started, so I stop talking.
It seems so unlikely that Daniel Bowman would want to take me on a date that for a second, I wonder if he’s actually making fun of me.
But a joke like that would be mean, and Daniel isn’t mean.
“I don’t understand,” I say finally.
Daniel drops his backpack on the floor and leans back against the stairwell.
“It’s not that complicated,” he says, sounding like he’s enjoying himself. “I’m going to take you on a date. Have you ever been on one?”
Okay, that’s insulting. “What are you talking about? You lived in Oscar’s dorm, didn’t you? You saw us together all the time.”
“Yeah, I did. That’s why I’m asking. Oscar didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would take a girl on a date.”
Now I see what he’s driving at.
“You’re talking about picking a girl up at her place, giving her flowers or whatever, and taking her out to dinner and a movie?”
Damn that grin.
“Now you’ve got it. Have you ever been on one of those?”
“It’s not 1950, so no. For one thing, I like to pay my own way. I never let a guy pay for me. Not even a movie ticket.”
“See, now, this is one of the things feminism gets wrong. The guy should pay on a date. Especially the first one.”
I fold my arms. “Money is power. Financial independence is power. I choose not to give a guy the illusion that he has power over me.”
He looks at me for a moment, his head cocked to the side. Then he shakes his head slowly.
“When two people are into each other, they take turns having power. But that’s not why a guy pays on a date. Or at least, it’s not why I pay.”
That short beard of his makes me want to run a hand along the line of his jaw.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you pay?”
“Because on a date, a guy is auditioning for the role of someone who wants to dote on you. And because it’s romantic.”
I feel hot and then cold. What is happening here? What is he saying? Is he…does he…
“You want to dote on me?” I blurt.
He flashes that grin again.
“That would freak you out, wouldn’t it? So I won’t say it. I’ll just say I think it would be fun to take you on a date. To show you how a real man does it.”
A real man.
I feel like I’m struggling to keep up at this point, but I take another shot at it.
“You want to take me on a date not because you’re into me, but as a kind of…demonstration?”
He shrugs. “Sure, let’s call it that. A show-you-how-it’s-done kind of thing. I had to watch Oscar screw up his time with you for an entire year, and I want you to know that some guys aren’t assholes. That some guys are actually worth your trouble.”
My arms are still folded, and they feel like my only protection from this weird melting feeling inside me, right behind my breastbone.
“You want to take me on a date on behalf of the male gender as a whole? To prove that some of you are decent?”
“Yeah.”
“But not because you’re into me.”
It’s the second time I’ve used that phrase, and I feel my cheeks heating up.
He shakes his head.
It occurs to me then that I asked the question wrong. I should have just said, Are you into me? Because the way I put it leaves room for the interpretation that while his primary reason for taking me on a date isn’t that he’s into me, he could, in fact, be into me.
But there is no way on God’s green earth I’m going to attempt to clarify this point. Because believe it or not, I actually do have some pride.
“But while we’re on the subject, do you know what I figured out today?” he asks.
“What?”
He takes a step closer. Even though he’s not touching me, goose bumps sweep across my skin. Then he bends his head, bringing his mouth to within an inch of my ear.
“You’re into me.”
Now it’s not just my face that’s hot. It’s my whole body, from my head right down to my toes.
I take a step back, my legs shaky.
“You’re out of your mind,” I say automatically—even though it’s a lie.
He’s better lit now, and those navy blue eyes are impossible to look away from.
“You were staring at me all during class.”
I’m amazed I don’t break into a flop sweat.
“That’s—that’s just because—” I swallow. “I was thinking about our scene. And anyway, how the hell do you know where I was looking? Do you have eyes in the back of your head or something?”
“I didn’t know,” he says, his expression smug. “It was just a guess.”
Well, shit.
I wish I knew how to wipe that grin off his face. But there’s no question he won this round.
I try to get the conversation back on point.
“Look, Bowman—I don’t go on dates as social experiments or whatever.”
“That’s not why you’ll go. You’ll go because you’re into me.”
“I’m not—”
“I’ll pick you up Saturday night at seven. We’ll go out to dinner, but it’ll be a casual place. You can wear whatever you want.”
“I won’t—”
“Yeah, you will.”
I huff out an annoyed breath. “What makes you think I’ll go on this date with you?”
“I don’t know for sure,” he says. “It’s another guess. But I’ll be right again, because you’re into me.”
He still hasn’t said whether he’s into me. I want to ask him, because the power dynamic is totally screwed up right now and I want him to feel as off balance as I do.
But I can’t ask him. Obviously. I mean, what if he says no?
What if he says yes?
And that’s when I realize I don’t know which answer would be scarier.
All I can do is stare at him, feeling like I’m not wearing enough clothes. But it’s not my skin that’s exposed.
“What about after the date?” I ask suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“What are you expecting?”
I’m not sure why I’m asking this. Is it my way of asking if he’s into me without asking if he’s into me?
“Nothing,” he says. “In fact, that’s the first ground rule for Saturday night. No fooling around. Not even kissing.”
I feel myself relax a little, which is confusing. I am actually into this guy, and I’m a girl with a healthy sex drive. So why should I feel relieved about the no-fooling-around thing?
Not that I’ve even agreed to go on the date, of course.
“What’s the second ground rule?”
“We don’t talk about abortion. Or religion. Or politics.”
I start to smile. “That sounds good.” I pause. “But I haven’t said yes yet.”
“I know. But you will.”
He looks at something over my shoulder, and I turn to see Izzy and Charlie coming down the hallway.
“Your friends are looking for you,” Daniel says. “I’ll see you Saturday night, Tamsin.”
Then he picks up his backpack and walks away.