Exiles in America(59)

pened.”

But Abbas was neither angry nor guilty. “So she will have told you we did

not have relations with her, only each other. We did not force her to stay.” He

smirked. “She got quite the eyeful.”

And Daniel lost it. “Dammit, Rohani! What you and Elena do to get your

kicks is none of my business. But when you involve a student, you involve the

school. Maureen is someone I’ve known for a long time. Luckily for you, she’s

not someone who’s going to flip out. But you and Elena were using her, and I

don’t appreciate it.”

Abbas remained calm. “What is this really about, Daniel? This is not

about your student. This is about me.” He was still smirking. “You are jeal-

ous. Terribly jealous. You talk like a man in love.” His smirk softened into a

smile. “That is so sweet.”

Daniel was stunned, embarrassed, furious.

“That’s ridiculous!” said Daniel. “You don’t know what you’re talking

about.”

“Oh, but I do,” said Abbas. “Because I’m in love with you.”

And Daniel was stunned in a whole new way.

It’s only his limited vocabulary, he thought. Abbas used the word love too

easily. It had too many meanings.

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C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m

“Bullshit,” Daniel finally said. “You’re not in love with me. You want me

to want you. That’s all. You want everyone to want you.”

Abbas looked pained, almost contrite. “I am sorry,” he said. “I know you

cannot believe me. I was an asshole on Friday night. I said so many ugly

things. But I was an asshole because I was in love.”

“You were an asshole because you were jealous,” said Daniel. “First of

Elena with Ross. Then of Elena with Maureen.”

“Yes, yes, a little. In both cases,” Abbas admitted. “But I was most jealous

of you and Zachary.”

“Me and Zack?” Daniel hesitated. “Because you’re in love with me?” He

tried to put a sneering spin on his words.

Abbas nodded. “Which I began to understand on Friday when I fought

with your boyfriend. Then when I made love to my wife.”

Daniel tried to stay skeptical. He needed to remain skeptical to protect

himself. “You wished you were making love to me?”

“No. I wished it was you and not the girl who was watching. So I could

hurt you. So I could make you jealous.” He raised his eyebrows at Daniel: Do

you get it yet? “And I wanted to make you jealous because I loved you.”

Yes, that sounded right. Daniel had been hurt just knowing Abbas still

fucked his wife, so hurt he couldn’t picture it. He pictured it now, not their bod-

ies but Abbas’s face: the Iranian husband always looked so happy during sex.

“I am jealous of many people,” Abbas confessed. “I fall in love too easily.

I love my work, my children, and sometimes my wife. But now I am in love

with you. And the others must bear with it.”

Was he sincere? Or was he only manipulating Daniel? Was he even aware

how manipulative he was? Daniel resisted, but under his disbelief was a silly

feeling of joy. It was fun to be loved, exciting to be wanted. Elation ballooned

in his chest. Nothing Daniel said or thought could pop that feeling.

“If you fall in love so easily, it doesn’t last long, does it?”

“Oh no. This is only body love. Love-affair love. With a beginning, mid-

dle, and end.” He gestured again at the blank canvas. “But that is why I

couldn’t paint on Sunday. I was too busy thinking about you. I thought I

could forget you and work on my work, but no. I could only smoke cigarettes

and pace around and feel frozen.”

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

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The man was such a painting machine that he thought a failure to work

proved his sincerity. The square at their feet looked like a great white bed.

“I thought this wasn’t going to be about love,” said Daniel.

Abbas smiled again. “Too late.”

He really did seem like a different man today, sheepishly amused with him-

self, as if being in love were such an absurd experience that he found it funny.

Here was where they should embrace and kiss and declare that love was

mutual. But they didn’t.

“So what did you want to do about this?” Daniel said curtly.

“I think we should resume seeing each other. And let love happen. Let it

have its beginning, middle, and end. But we cannot see each other’s spouses

again, because they only make us self-conscious. They make us jealous and

unhappy.”

“I’m not jealous of Elena.”

“No?” said Abbas in surprise. “Not a little?”