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No strings attached.


What a stupid thing to say. He of all people knew that the world was bound up in string, that everything was poised from thread. Thread tied so tightly it could slice you to the bones.


He of all people knew how impossible it is to avoid the hideous knots in everything. The terrible death plunge both would face when one of them - most likely him-would cut those strings between them. Yes, he would suffer too, the moment it ended, because despite what everyone thought of him, he was not the type to have sex with someone without caring for them.


So he cut all contact. He saw her once six days ago at the East Village where he was having dinner with Ingrid and a group of friends. He promptly looked the other way, pretending he had not seen her.


And yet he could not stop thinking about her proposition. It was the kind of proposal men dreamt of and yet he had been stunned to hear it. He felt as if his body had been slammed against glass.  


Andrew knew he was an attractive, desirable man. He pretended he did not, because it was expected of him. Yet he knew and acknowledged he was a man who could keep secrets, who could live multiple lives.  Even after he had turned the offer down, meaning what he had said, he had taken her words home with him, closed tightly in his fist.


Un jardin secret… ave beaucoup de fleurs.


Dana had said that to him, months ago. He could not remember in what context, but that phrase stood out. Had that been a hint of her intentions then? Andrew would scan over their entire relationship each night, looking for clues he had been oblivious to, every single past exchange now laced with double meaning. He would toss and turn besides Ingrid each night, suffering through bursts of fitful sleep, cold in the darkness, swallowing back the need to howl. He woke up in the morning peevish, his jaw sore with gritted teeth.


He hated her. She had toyed with him, as if he were a marionette with stuffing for a heart and wire for bones. She had slinked into his life like a criminal. In less than six months she had crept into his mind from nonentity to blazing sphere. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and when he fell asleep, it was under her.


I am doomed. I am doomed. I am doomed. He is not a fan of melodrama, yet the words are a continous train.


* * *


“Think Greek? What does that mean think Greek? ‘Oh, you’re thinking with a 21st century perspective’ like what does that even mean? You keep saying that. How am I supposed to think?” The girl rolled her eyes, her lips pursed.


It has been a month since that drunken night. One month and he had disappeared from her life.


 “Well, Rachel, I’ll explain that to you” Dana smiled calmly, her patience starting to wear thin. He had cancelled lunch that Wednesday, all contact had abruptly halted. Stupid, stupid! She wanted to scream and kick herself for doing this. Her stupid, big mouth - what had she been thinking?


“I mean, god, all my friends are at the Hamptons partying and I’m stuck here for the summer, its bullshit” Rachel twirled a finger in her mass of platinum dyed blonde hair.


He had seen her in public and looked the other way. It had bought her to tears. Yet she could not begrudge him his need to keep his world intact. It was wrong to ask him to risk the things that made his life fulfilling.


“Mhmm” Dana bit her lip. “Let’s get to the question, okay? Is Orestes justified killing his mother? Remember to consider the theme we have been discussing with these texts, which is kinship versus politics.”


But what risk? A voice in her head spoke up defiantly. You promised you would end it whenever he wanted. You assured secrecy, you-


“Well of course no, that’s stupid!” Rachel’s tone was starting to grate. “I mean, how anyone can kill their own mother. It’s so totally fucked up.”


“Yes, well the ancient Greeks back then kind of were. This is what I mean by thinking Greek. You have to pretend you were back there, and try to see things from their view, okay? We discussed kinship versus politics last week, yes? The differences each one has?”


“Yeah” Rachel sighed, looking out the library window.


“So, we are thinking Greek. Women back then had no rights, they weren’t seen as citizens. And here you have Agamemnon who is murdered by his wife Clytemnestra. And not only does she kill her husband, the king, she and her lover Aegisthus usurp the throne, unlawfully. And Orestes is banished, why is that?” Dana paused, waiting for Rachel to continue.


“Because she thinks he will murder her.”


“And why is that?”


“Because he killed his father and he wants revenge.”


“Any other reason?” Dana could feel someone watching and she looked up to see Frank sitting a few feet away, an amused expression on his face. Dana waved, mouthing a silent hi, before turning back to Rachel. She glanced at her phone on the table. Ten more minutes and she would be free.


“Umm…”


“Think about it. Who is the rightful heir to the throne?”


“Well, she should be; she’s the queen.”


“Ah, but we just went through that. She is the queen but we need the king as well in order to rule. So who was the heir, the rightful king?”


“Orestes” Rachel was starting to fidget in her seat. Dana couldn’t help but feel that she was educating a five year old with a learning disorder.


“That’s it! Very good, Rachel. So this isn’t just about revenge, is it? This is about him being the rightful king, and him reclaiming his throne again. So this is not just about the kinship between father and son and mother and son, but politics comes into this too. That is the clash your professor wants you to analyze.”


“Why don’t they just vote?”


Goddamn it.


Dana looked at the time and almost bounded out of her seat in relief, “Ah, well, we shall have to discuss that next week. Read the chapters and make note of the parts I have underlined for you, okay?”


“Yeah, okay sure whatever” Rachel rolled her eyes, before pulling out her phone and walking off.


A five year old with a learning disorder who aspired to not only look but also talk like Paris Hilton.


“Sorry about that” Dana looked up at Frank as he approached her. She began to load her notes and things into her satchel, “Just let me get my things and we can go to lunch.”


“Job doesn’t pay enough, right?” Frank grinned at her, amused by the whole incident. “Is she really that obtuse?”


“Every time I hear the word obtuse, it always reminds me of Shawshank Redemption” Dana shook her head, amused. “Yeah, she is. I think because she thinks she - or should I say her dad-pays me, I am supposed to do her work for her. And I am tempted to just do that too, it would be easier. Plus her father will give me hell if his princess doesn’t pass.”


‘That’s not fair” Frank frowned, unimpressed. “I hope you made it clear that if she doesn’t do her readings, you can only take her so far.”


 “Hmm, I have but I don’t think it makes a difference” Dana shrugged, slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, smiling up at him. “Oh, well. Ready to go?”


“Ready” Frank smiled back and together they headed outside, walking down the stairs of NYU, stepping outside to Washington Square in companionable silence.


“It’s a good thing I didn’t follow in your footsteps, don’t you think Professor?” Dana teased, nudging him with her elbow. “I don’t have the magic touch that you have with students.”


Frank was six years older than her. Dana had met him when she was 22 and completing her honors at NYU. Her thesis has focused on deconstructing the film Metropolis and how in many ways the film reflected society and its unspoken class system today.  It was the perfect topic and she had done well.


But two things had happened that year. The first had been meeting Frank- both sat in the same area at the library each night and had been compelled to talk to each other for no reason other than proximity. Frank had just finished his PhD the year before and was getting a syllabus ready for a new class he was about to teach:  Espionage, Terror and Global Disorder.


 The second thing was September the eleventh. Watching those towers fall had thrown Dana off balance and propelled a semi midlife crisis. She began to not only re-evaluate her life but the world around her. Her degree up until then had been more fun than anything-French and literature and film as well as some history-things she was good at and not too strenuous. She had planned on doing a PhD and teaching film to others, perhaps even having a career in cinema herself, she had always secretly dreamed of being a producer.


But after that she realized was starting to feel impatient with it all. Her degree was girly and fun, but also in a sense, sort of useless. It was all about theory and deconstructing and analyzing.  She wanted to not only learn something useful but do something useful as well.


And the inspiration was cemented when she attended Frank’s introductory two hour lecture. It had opened her eyes. The PLO. American Imperialism. The Taliban. Islamic Fundamentalism. Hezbollah. Torture in Iran. The role of the US in the middle east. Israel and Palestine. The meaning of genocide. Frank's style and presentation, his broad knowledge of world politics and history had galvanized Dana. She was now aware for the first time of the whole world and how little she knew about it.


It was Frank who had encouraged her to not study politics but apply for her law degree instead, insisting that it would be far more useful. And it was Frank who had studied with her and helped her pass the exams, allowing for admission into Columbia. Her father, a lawyer himself, had been unbelievably thrilled that his only daughter was following in his footsteps. She had wanted to be a lawyer when she was a child only because of her father, not understanding what it meant other than being well dressed and respected. 


Her mother, a high school teacher, said she was proud too, yet Dana wondered whether she was disappointed her daughter had not also taken the path of teaching like they had always talked about.  Her parents had divorced when she was eighteen and she hated feeling that making one happy or proud somehow meant disappointing the other.


 “Next time I should just grab her by the hair and pull out the hideous blond weave. That will probably get her to pay attention” Dana said. She was in a grumpy mood; things that mildly annoyed her were now a personal affront.


She could not get his words out of her head. I would if I could. I’m sorry I can’t.


Dana remembered once sitting in a science class during high school, when she was fifteen. Her science teacher had been discussing an article that had been recently published. The article contained research which spoke about whether physical or emotional pain was the worst. The research had come to no conclusion. Now Dana could finally see why. One always bought the other. She actually felt as if she had been knifed through her stomach. She felt the urge to shout, scream, run away, but she didn’t have a shred of energy to move.  Most of all, she felt angry at herself for caring. What did she have to care about? It was not as if they had even done anything, let alone become lovers. Dana had nothing to be sad over. What she had was exactly that-nothing. Looking at Andrew didn’t even bring Dana pleasure anymore.


“White girls wear weaves?” Frank pulled a face.


Dana grinned in response, “Yes Frank, it’s called hair extensions”


“Oh, okay. Still, her hair extensions aren’t as nice as yours.”


“You jerk!” Dana gave him a shove, only half pretending to be furious. “How many times have we gone through this? All of my hair is real.”


“Oh, that’s right, you are part Cherokee” Frank added, laughing “It’s good hair, cause you’re part Indian.”


“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Her phone began to ring then and she began to rummage through her bag. “And I don’t believe in the term ‘good hair’, okay?” She glanced at the caller ID displayed and felt her mouth turn dry. “Excuse me” She muttered to Frank before answering.


 “Hey, how are you?” Dana answered, trying her best to sound cheerful.


“Are you busy tomorrow?” Andrew asked, rather abrupt.


“Um, I… I have class” Dana replied, almost stammering. She was thrown back by his tone.


“Sorry to be a pain” Andrew said then, sounding anything but sorry. “But I have a photo shoot in Park Slope, and so I know this is a bit of a commute. But I need an assistant who can help me out. Are you free in the afternoon? After two?”


Her classes started at eight and finished at one. Dana could manage it but she felt hesitant about the idea. She still felt hurt about the snub he had given her, the silence she had received the past few weeks.


“Are you there? Hello? Look if you’re busy, I can find someone else.”


Go to hell, asshole! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!


Dana swallowed her irritation back down. “Well, I finish at one, um… yeah, I can manage it. What do you need me to do?”


“Nothing major, easy stuff. So I’m going to text you the address, okay? See you tomorrow” He hung up, not waiting for a response.


“Bye” Dana said to the dial tone of the phone.


Frank looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “Who was that?


“Nobody” Dana slipped the phone back into her satchel, shrugging dismissively, doing her best to quell her pounding heart.













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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.