The Yellow Suitcase

by L. W. Clark

  “I’m glad you mentioned that. Do you like her look and style?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “This cover is a George Lepape fashion illustration. It was for the springtime issue’s Paris openings. Look at the woman, so delicately dressed in that pink gown and white scarf.”

  He paused for a few seconds.

  “Well, if you look at her closely,” he continued, “she’s admiring her jewels, and not the Paris streets outside her balcony.”

  He paused again.

  “There are a couple of reasons I wanted to show you this,” he said. “First, I know how much you like reading Vogue, and I thought you might find this interesting. But also, remember our first date in Central Park?

  “Sure I do,” I said.

  “Seeing you reminded me of this cover,” he said. “Looking at you I thought of her.”

  Now I blushed. Big time. I could feel my face heating up. I looked at him, and then at the magazine.

  “I’m flattered. She’s very beautiful,” I said.

  “So are you,” he said.

  “Who was George Lepape? I never heard of him.”

  “He was a French designer. He was one of the world’s most groundbreaking fashion illustrators, and his work was in-demand by the top haute couture houses in France. I got this magazine from a special person in France. It’s very valuable to me but I can lend it to you, if you’d like to have a look inside,” he smiled and handed the magazine to me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Of course, I’ll return it in the same condition as it is now, I promise. I would love to look inside.”

  “I thought so,” he smiled.

  We went downstairs where Mark served us his specialty, French martinis. We made a toast and sat down. The table looked so beautiful. The table cloth and all the china were white; each setting had a small vase with a dusty pink rose and a small round white candle. At the center of the table was a flat round vase with a mix of flat-shaped white flowers and taller round candles.

  “The table is decorated so beautifully,” I said as Gilles offered me a chair.

  “Yes, it always is. From our interior designer, Mark,” Gilles said.

  Mona came out from the kitchen to announce what she would be serving. The first course was French onion soup, the second, duck breast with baked potato, covered with melted cheese and garlic. Dessert would be a napoleon pastry.

  “Mona makes the best French onion soup in the world,” Gilles said.

  Soup? Again? And what is onion soup? That doesn’t sound good. But I’ll have to eat it, if only out of respect for Gilles and Mona.

  Mona served the soup and returned to the kitchen. Gilles and Mark looked excited. I was like the sad child at the table who didn’t want to eat. I got even more depressed as I looked at its strange color. Both of them were about to dive in when Gilles paused.

  “Please, eat,” he smiled. “I want to know what you think.”

  “What about Mona?” I asked. “Aren’t we waiting for her?”

  Gilles looked at me and smiled. Mark already had his face buried in the soup.

  “That’s kind of you, but Mona is doing her job. She’s the cook, and the waitress tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, I misunderstood. I thought she was a friend and guest like us,” I smiled.

  “Well, she is our friend. She’s just working tonight.”

  Gilles turned his attention to the ugly soup as I forced myself to eat. After what seemed like hours, I finished, and gulped down the rest of my French martini.

  Nope, still taste the onions.

  Gilles poured some red wine for everyone. Soon Mark became super friendly. He had a great sense of humor. He started telling stories about his crazy city life. Everything was crazy around him, but in a funny way.

  “One day, I had this crazy subway experience,” Mark said. “I was standing on the platform waiting for the train, and this homeless man comes up to me. He was really ragged, razor thin and tired looking. So, he asks me if I can spare some change so he can get a cup of coffee. Any amount at all he said. Now, sometimes I give money but sometimes I don’t. It depends. This time I definitely would’ve given him something because he looked so down. But I didn’t have any money with me. I had my wallet, with my MetroCard and credit cards, but I keep my cash separate, and I ran out of the house so fast I forgot to grab it. So, I tell him, I’m sorry but I don’t have any money. He looked at me with these big sad eyes, shook his head back and forth, then reached into his pocket and handed me a dollar. I look at the dollar, and then at him, and tell him no, no, no … I have money, just not with me. He patted me on my shoulder and said ‘That’s OK, son, you shouldn’t be walking around a city like this without any money.’”

  “Wow, that’s something,” I said. “That’s generous.”

  “Right?” Mark said. “But now I’m chasing him on the platform trying to give him his money back, but he refused to take it. Is that crazy or what?”

  “That is crazy,” I said, as Gilles and I laughed.

  I felt so comfortable with these two even though they were older. I didn’t feel any awkwardness. What I liked most about Mark was he never asked me about my personal life. He never asked where I was from or what I did. All those annoying questions. He did most of the talking, and we did most of the laughing.

  Mark had his own interior design business. He did all the decorating work for Gilles. He also did some kind of house management or coordination of repairs. He was currently working on changes to the two second floor guest rooms. That’s all I wanted to know about Mark. I usually don’t like to go too deep into people’s personal lives when I first meet them. What’s the point? But I do observe people.

  In one story he mentioned he was about the same age as Gilles. But physically, and with his style, he looked much younger. He was thin, and about 5’10”, with light facial features. He had thinning, brown greyish hair, and used hair gel to shape a fashionable style. He wore a mix of formal and sporty styles, all high end.

  Mona served the duck. It was cut into small, thin slices (three each), with a small baked potato. It wasn’t a lot, but it tasted rich, and heavy. Gilles put on some classical music and Mark continued with his stories as we ate. By the time dessert arrived I was so full. But then I saw the light and crispy four layers of puff dough that looked like clouds, with heavy white cream in between, and my eyes got big. I never saw a napoleon that tall.

  “I asked Mona to make the napoleon especially for you,” Gilles said. “I know it’s one of your favorites.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ve never seen one like this. I’m sure Mona makes the best.”

  “Absolutely,” Gilles said. “She makes it better than they do in France, right Mark?”

  “Hell yeah,” Mark said, smiling.

  Gilles seems a little fanatical about Mona’s cooking. According to him, anything she served was the tastiest ever. The onion soup was the best in the world. He said he’s tried duck everywhere he’s traveled, and the best is here at home, because of Mona. And this kind of napoleon is better than any in all of France? Really? Do all employers get obsessed with their cooks? Or is she the best because she’s the one who cooks for him, so she must be the best?

  I ate the napoleon.

  I must admit, I have no experience to judge what’s good or bad when it comes to onion soup. And I don’t want to. I hate soup. But this napoleon? I wish Mona lived with me. I would never get tired of eating this delicious, fluffy and fresh napoleon. Each bite just melts away in my mouth, leaving a fantastic taste. I want more of this. A lot more! It’s probably a good thing Mona isn’t around me all the time. Otherwise my body will become as big and fluffy as this napoleon.

  We finished our dessert and coffee, and soon after, Gilles called a car service and I made my way home.

  What a lovely evening. Everything was great. Mark, Mona, and Gilles. The drinks, the dessert. I’m feeling so satisfied, except I have a lot of pent-up desire. For sex.

&n
bsp; TWENTY-SIX

  June 1997, Long Island

  “I’m in Washington, D.C. this week,” Gilles said. “You should come down and stay with me. I can show you around the city.”

  “I’d love to see Washington, but I can’t,” I said. “I have work and school.”

  Silence. Whenever I say no to him he goes quiet. How come he never says, “I know,” or “I understand?”

  “Why don’t you just take off?” he finally asked. “Tell them you’re taking a few days off. Better yet, tell them you’re quitting. You should just quit your job.”

  This is starting to irritate me.

  “I can’t do that,” I said. “I have to work.”

  “OK, don’t get irritated,” he said. “Let’s talk when we meet.”

  “I’m not irritated,” I said. “You’re saying I am, but I’m not.”

  We hung up.

  I can’t believe he can tell how I feel over the phone. I am irritated. Who is this guy? I want to know who he really is. I’ve never asked him any personal questions. I don’t like prying into people’s lives, but still. The phone rang again.

  “Look, please come to Washington,” he said. “I’m here mostly for business but I also want to take you to a birthday dinner party I’ve been invited to on Saturday.”

  “And why me?” I asked. “Why do you need me there? I won’t know anybody.”

  “You don’t need to know anyone. You know me,” he said. “And don’t worry about your job. Just call out sick for two days. It’s a weekend and they probably won’t mind. I’ll get you back Sunday night. I promise you won’t miss school on Monday.”

  What am I going to do? I want to be with him, anywhere he wants to take me. Who wouldn’t want to go with him to D.C. rather than work? I’m tired of my job but I have responsibilities, to myself and my family.

  “Alright,” I said.

  “Great, I can’t wait to see you.”

  I can’t say no to him. I’m becoming so weak to his charisma. It’s hard to resist. This will be interesting. It’ll be the first time we spend a weekend together.

  It was early Friday afternoon. I had to leave the house, but I didn’t know what to say to Anna. I’ve never been that good at lying. I just couldn’t do it. I went to Kalian for advice. I told her the situation, then I asked her to take my place.

  “It’s just one weekend,” I said. “Plus, you can make a little extra money.”

  “I would but I can’t this weekend,” she said. “Just leave the house before they come home so you don’t have to deal with them. I’ll tell them you had some personal business to deal with in Brooklyn. They can take care of their kids and the house for a couple of days.”

  “Kalian, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. Thank you. I’ll never forget your kindness and support, from day one.”

  “No problem. We’re friends. You did the same for me. When I called out, remember? You did my job. Otherwise they would’ve fired me. Anna told me that.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’m glad to hear I did something meaningful for you.”

  “If you get married to that man, don’t forget about me,” she smiled.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I smiled.

  “You never know.”

  “I’ll see you soon. Thanks again!”

  I left the house for Brooklyn, feeling as light as a butterfly.

  “I’m glad you went to Brooklyn,” Gilles said when he called that evening.

  “Me too,” I said. “I’m excited about going tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Are you excited to see D.C. or me?”

  “Hmm … both.”

  “Good answer. Mark will meet up with you tomorrow. You remember Mark, right?”

  “Sure, I remember him.”

  “The two of you can fly down here together. He has some business here as well. I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

  “That’s great. I’m sure I’ll hear more of his funny stories. I like him.”

  The next morning, I did as Gilles asked and went to meet Mark at 61st and Lexington Avenue, just outside of Barneys.

  Is Barneys one of Mark’s clients? Or does he live around here? Oh, there he is now.

  “Hi, Alyssa,” Mark said. “Gilles asked me to take you shopping for the trip. He said you might need some clothes for the dinner party.”

  “I’ve heard about this store, but I’ve never been inside.”

  “It’s one of my favorites. Let’s have some fun before we take off. Shall we?” he smiled, grabbed my hand and we were off to the races again.

  What’s up with the hand holding and pulling me along like a little kid? I thought Gilles holds my hand because he’s attracted to me, like a couple. But Mark does the same thing. Is this what people do in crowded city streets, or do I look like a confused kid?

  “Should we start in the shoes or clothes department?” he asked.

  Look at all this stuff. I feel lightheaded.

  “Mark, I want you to dress me. Whatever you think would look good on me. I like your style and I want to look like a New York City girl. I’m sure you know what’s in fashion now.”

  After a successful shopping adventure with Mark, we piled into a waiting car and made our way to the airport. As Mark and I chatted it suddenly got dark as we entered a tunnel.

  “Where are we going Mark?” I asked.

  “New Jersey, Teterboro Airport,” he said.

  “Oh, I’ve never heard of that.”

  After about twenty minutes we pulled up to a small building.

  “This is the terminal?” I asked. “It’s really small.”

  “Indeed,” Mark said.

  We gathered all the bags and entered the building.

  “Do you have my airline ticket?” I asked.

  “You won’t need a ticket,” he said smiling.

  “What do you mean? How will I know what seat I’m in or get through security?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, still laughing. “Let’s hurry. The plane is waiting.”

  The plane is waiting, for us?

  We stepped outside and I followed Mark as we made our way to a small, beautiful, white jet.

  “Well this is our ride,” Mark said.

  “This?” I asked.

  “Yes, it’s just you and me, and the crew of course.”

  As I scanned the plane my eyes got wide.

  “This is amazing,” I said.

  “Yes, it’s the only way to fly,” Mark said. “Shall we?”

  We boarded the private jet, carrying a bunch of large shopping bags. It looked like we bought the whole store. Mark and I settled into the plane and as we were drinking a glass of champagne, he started chatting away.

  “I have this crazy guy I work with,” Mark said. “You know, one of those eccentric types? A fantastic designer, but he can be super moody. You never know from one day to the next what his attitude will be. Just this past Tuesday I’m in the office and I hear him going crazy. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he says, ‘why the hell is everything so goddamn difficult?’ He’s yelling, slamming things down, just making a real racket. So, I go over and say to Larry, ‘What’s going on, is everything alright?’ He looks at me and slumps into his chair. ‘Sorry, I just had a really bad morning,’ he says. ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Well, you know my apartment near Lincoln Center, on the 32nd floor, with the row of windows that you pull so they slant to the inside, and they have the opening on the top? Well my cat was jumping along the ledge and he jumped right out the window.’”

  “Oh my God, that’s horrible,” I said, but then I started to smile.

  “Yeah, see?” Mark asked. “I see you smiling. You’re doing exactly what I did. I know it’s bad, but I just couldn’t help visualizing the scene he just described, and I had to try really, really hard to stop myself from smiling. I had to go to my office and shut the door so I wouldn’t lose it in front of him. So crazy.”

  “Can you imagine?” I asked as we both giggl
ed and shook our heads.

  Gilles was waiting for us in the St. Regis hotel lobby. It was beautiful. He looked excited to see me. I was still in shock from the shopping and the private jet ride. It was all a little overwhelming.

  “Gilles, thank you,” I whispered to him when I kissed him.

  “I can’t wait to see you in your new clothes,” he whispered back. “I’m glad you two are here, safe and sound. Here’s your room key. We’re on the same floor.”

  “Oh … OK,” I said.

  I smiled as I entered my room with all my shopping bags. The large suite was beautifully designed, with soft colors and elegant furniture. I opened the curtains to make the room brighter. I looked around.

  I’m here with him, in this beautiful hotel with these beautiful clothes, which belong to me.

  I opened the large French style window to let the air in and took a deep breath. I returned to my shopping bags to look again at all the beautiful colors and high-quality fabrics. Soft leather shoes and bags. I only dreamed of having things like these. I had blouses and pants, a few dresses, and a couple of bags, all by high-end designers, an ensemble of Marni, Nina Ricci, Prada and Lanvin. I was in love with all of them.

  I admire Mark’s taste. He dressed me well.

  I was filled with happiness. I couldn’t wait to dress. I was so excited, and suddenly, I wasn’t. I sat down on the couch. I became sad. I was thinking about my family. I wanted to share everything with them. I wanted them to experience being in a fancy hotel and unlimited shopping and flying on a private jet. I wanted to pack up all my shopping bags and send them to them, right away. I was only helping them with money, for a simple life. Food and the basics. I wanted to do more. It made me cry.

  Gilles asked me to be ready an hour before going to the party. He wanted to spend some time with me. Just the two of us he said. After a shower I put on some light makeup and a small amount of mascara with pale red lipstick. I pulled my hair straight, so it was laying over my shoulders. I put lotion on my entire body, and no perfume. I wanted to smell fresh. I was wearing a Marni light green, shoulder strap, wrap cocktail dress, with Lanvin high heeled, open toe summer shoes. The dress felt so soft and light, like I wasn’t wearing anything. It just flowed on my body. I felt so sexy. I was ready on time and waited for him.