by Niv Kaplan
“I miss you,” Elena said.
She could hear him sigh, so many miles away. “I miss you too.”
“It’s lonely for me here, and cold.”
“I know. I’m sorry this turned out this way but I’ve got to take care of business here.”
“I miss the Greek weather. It’s horrible weather here. The wind is brutal.”
“Elena, please, give it a little more time. We’ll have better days, I swear.”
“Why can’t you contact Jack?”
“I can’t talk about it but we’re in a pool of trouble down here. Get me Metzger, please.”
Elena knew better than to pry further. She had had glimpses of the activity going on around her for the past two weeks but never the entire picture. She knew where everyone was since she made travel arrangements but she was never certain where they all belonged. She knew who the Center members were but the rest were clandestine: the six Brits traveling from Scotland to Israel; a guy named Peka for whom she arranged travel from Romania via London; someone named Kessler for whom she secured a rented van in Ben Gurion Airport; a high roller named Metzger who was paying the bills; a woman named Annie Green.
Sam was being as gentle as he could but was keeping her ignorant. He had drawn the line explicitly from the start but it annoyed her. She felt she deserved to be reasonably informed and not used like a device.
She also missed him terribly, their renewed attraction cut short by the crisis. They were in the midst of being reacquainted, finding a long absent love, rebuilding their trust in life, when he hastily left, leaving her with a responsibility she could barely handle, on her own, in a huge and quite alien metropolis.
She had since learned to use the subway, hail down a taxi, and eat a deli sandwich on the run, but alone in the office for most of the day and some of the nights, it was beginning to get to her. She had been alone on her husband’s farm too long to fancy living it all over again even in a vigorous place like New York City.
She craved intimacy and she wanted to be with her new mate. Walking the streets and seeing couples in restaurants and coffee shops was no substitute, it only made it harder.
Disappointed, she connected Sam to George Metzger and put down the receiver.
The fax machine was clogged with incoming faxes. Elena pulled them out, not daring to look; she filed them in a thick folder she had set up when Sam had shown her the office the first day.
Too early to call the travel agency, she set about arranging the office as best she could. At least she was happy Natasha was coming. A legitimate Center member, who could put things in order and relieve some of the load.
She began sorting the mail, placing each correspondence in each member’s room, two weeks’ worth of unopened mail piling up quite high on their desks.
Sam rang once more, a few hours later and she gave him the travel details.
“You OK love?” he asked gently.
“Barely,” she answered. “Will Natasha stay long?”
“Not sure. A couple of days, at least.”
“I’d appreciate it if she spent some time here sorting out some of the classified paperwork.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Great, I can use some company here.”
“Love you,” Sam said.
“Get back quick.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Elena hung up and went out for lunch. Her favorite hangout was a Greek kitchen, a fifteen-minute walk down Pearl Street to Pier 17, where she had made friends with the chef and one of the deli attendants who were both Athenians.
She ordered the usual: short espresso to start with, a glass of water, a Greek salad with extra olive oil, extra Feta and warmed whole wheat bread which she used to wipe her plate clean from the oil and sauce. Once her coffee was ready, she took her place by a corner table facing the East River. Slowly sipping her coffee she surveyed the dock and the Manhattan skyline, lost in thought.
Meeting Sam again after so many years was a shock. Making love to him felt almost familiar. Stavros, her ex-husband, would make love to her on occasion when he was not drunk or tired. His lovemaking was short and businesslike without any foreplay. Sam, on the other hand, made her feel her worth. He was gentle and flexible and he cared about what she liked. The bruises of their life were forgotten for a while, when they made love. She was his first after Michelle and he hers after her split from her husband.
She marveled at the twists life had in store. It was almost twenty years ago when they all carelessly skinny-dipped in the Med. Now they were trying to pick up shattered pieces of their life. She suddenly felt her age, her reflection in the mirror behind the bar looked solemn, tucked in a long black overcoat, under a fleece fedora, behind a wool scarf.
She also worried constantly about Sam’s frame of mind. On the verge of obsession, his relentless pursuit of clues of his son was threatening to any “normal” relationship she would hope to have. The Center was his avenue, his prospect, to learning the fate of his long lost son. This took precedence over anything else. Sam, she observed, did nothing if it did not serve to bring him closer to deciphering his life’s enigma. Granted, it was as horrible fate as any for a human. His wife raped and murdered, his infant son vanished; no one, not even she, could judge Sam. It was a blessing he remained sane.
But time had to be a factor. If Sam had managed and remained sane all these years, there was something healthy in him; a basic survival instinct must have kept him alive, the same instinct that made love to her and she was convinced Sam had to stop fighting it or their relationship would never materialize.
She suddenly realized what she wanted and a smile began forming about her lips. She looked at the mirror behind the bar again and noticed her eyes sparkle and her teeth shining from within the draped reflection, the gray ambiance of the bar suddenly turning cheerful.
She knew what she wanted and she wanted it from Sam.
She wanted a child. She wanted his child; one that would restore all the damage.
Natasha arrived the following morning.
She had flown El-Al direct from Tel Aviv and came straight away from JFK to the office.
Elena held the begrudging entrance door for her as she hauled in her luggage, watching the tall graceful figure strip off her excess sheathing. They shook hands, introduced each to the other, and carried on some small talk as Elena brewed coffee and brought it over to Sam’s office where Natasha began reviewing the faxes.
“I’d love some breakfast,” Natasha said when she finished sorting out the faxes, filing the urgent ones in a separate folder, depositing it in her office. “I’ll take care of those when we get back.”
They wrapped themselves in overcoats and scarves again, and ventured out into the foggy New York morning, finding a cozy diner with home-cooking scents on the corner of Pike and East Broadway.
“Where did you meet Sam?” Natasha asked after they had settled and she ordered an omelet breakfast and hot tea.
“First time, on the Island of Kos, near Turkey in 1975,” Elena divulged. Coffee was all she could handle that early in the morning. “A year later we met again. That’s when he met Michelle.”
“You knew her?” Natasha asked, attentively. The photo in Sam’s office and bits and pieces from Black Jack was all she knew of the tragedy.
“Yes. We spent some time together on Rhodes.”
“What was she like? How did they meet?”
“She was beautiful. Sam and me were having a bath party with two Swedish girls in a youth hostel on Rhodes, when she walked in on us. Sam fell in love with her right then.”
“A bath party? Sam?” Natasha marveled, playfully. “He’s as stuffy as they come.”
“He was different then,” Elena said, standing up for him. “The incident changed him drastically.”
“What was he like then?”
“Happy. Good-natured. Carefree - everybody loved him, women especially. There wasn’t a cynical bone in his body. He trusted people
and they trusted him.”
Natasha’s omelet arrived, ornate with a salad and fresh oven-baked rolls.
“Did you know him well?” Natasha asked, cutting her roll and spreading some butter.
”I still do, even though he’s changed," Elena admitted, "I know who he was and I know some of it still exists.”
“Wow,” Natasha breathed, slicing into her omelet. “I had no idea. He never talked about his past even though the tragedy’s been consistently hovering around here. Except for Jack, no one dared raise the issue. It was nobody’s business.”
“It’s a miracle he survived,” Elena acknowledged. “But it’s time he let go.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wants to find his son. That’s his primary reason for doing all this...”
“We can’t judge him after such tragedy,” Natasha stated. “You and I might have done the same.”
“It’s not about judging. It’s about living. It’s been ten years. His son is eleven. Who knows what’s he been through and where he might be. He may even be happy wherever he is. Finding him may harm him more than help him.”
“Sam has to know! He has to know what happened to his child. He may then decide to leave it alone but he has to know!”
“And if he never finds him? What then?”
“He might dedicate his life to help other children. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, but he needs to have a personal life as well. Like normal people,” Elena reasoned. “He can’t go on living in the shadow of ghosts. Michelle would certainly not have approved. She would have wanted him to make a new life for himself.”
Natasha fell silent. She was thinking of her own predicament and wondered what ghosts she was chasing. Certainly, work at the Center was a full time commitment, which hardly left room for any personal life. Was she the kind of person Elena was talking about? Was she like Sam?
She suddenly had a thought.
“Do you want to go out tonight?” she asked.
“Go out?” Elena queried.
“You know. Drink. Dance. Meet people.”
“You and me?”
“Yes. I know a few places from my younger days here in the city. If they still exist we can have great fun.”
“Dance?” Elena repeated to herself. “I haven’t danced since I got married.”
“You’re married?” Natasha asked in wonderment.
“Was, until a month ago.”
“All the more reason…”
“Yeah. Why not? Now that I think about it. I haven’t been alive for the past ten years.”
“Neither have I,” Natasha remarked. “I’ll go get some rest once I’m done with the faxes then we’ll go out. Where are you staying?”
“With Sam.”
“Oh. He didn’t mention it,” Natasha said, surprised. “Come to think of it, he doesn’t mention lots of things.”
“My husband divorced me, so I left Greece,” Elena explained. “We had no children and I had nowhere to go, so I came here, to be with Sam. When this… Middle East… crisis happened he asked me to manage the office until you all got back.”
“That part I know,” Natasha remarked. “He just never explained your background and the fact that you were now together.”
“Does it bother you?” Elena asked.
“Absolutely not. It’s about time Sam had a woman. You are beautiful and I’m happy for him and for you.”
“Thank you,” Elena said.
“But this doesn’t cancel tonight. Does it? You can still have fun. Can’t you?”
“Of course I can. Tell me where and when.”
“I’ll pick you up from Sam’s apartment at around ten. Is that OK?”
“It’s perfect.”
Natasha cleaned out her plate and paid for the breakfast. They took a few last sips from their hot beverages and walked back to the office.
Ernesto’s Pub in the East Village swarmed with patrons.
It was not just a pub. It was setting for New York’s finest. Yuppies of all colors and make filled every niche with rumble and talk. Scrawny waitresses in dark miniskirts were distributing drinks and snacks, balancing their trays high above their heads. The place was lively and huge. A two-storey loft, Ernesto’s was divided into four sections. A glistening bar equipped with all the amenities stood in the middle of the parquet floor facing all sides filled with barmaids busy taking orders and distributing drinks.
To one side was a space filled with tall round bar stalls where people stood drinking. On the other side was an area with long low wooden tables where people could actually sit and eat various snacks along with their drinks. In the front was just more open space where people stood drinking and chatting and in the back was a dance area.
The music was ear shattering.
It varied from rock to hip-hop to salsa to rap to break-dance and back to rock all with a touch of Latin, lights flashing, the scene changing colors.
They deposited their coats at the entrance and Natasha led the way in, pushing toward the bar where two men instantly evacuated their stools allowing them to sit.
She looked astonishing, Elena thought. Wearing tight fitting red slacks with black leather boots and a flimsy black blouse, her shoulders bare, her blonde hair flowing down her back, Natasha was more beautiful and stood a head taller than most women in the place.
Elena herself wore black wavy slacks with a white shirt, which highlighted her dark skin and flowing black hair. She was considerably shorter than Natasha, but attracted as many looks with her exotic appearance.
They both wore make-up. Natasha had her lips shiny red and her eyes done with black eyeliner. Her silky white skin shone. Elena had put on clear lipstick with green eyeliner, enhancing her piercing dark eyes.
The two men, Gus and Kevin, who had given up their stools, wanted to chat and stood around expecting attention but the women were busy ordering tequilas and daiquiris.
“This place has been happening for six years now,” Natasha hollered over the music. “Not a small feat in a place like New York. Like it?”
“I need to get used to the noise but yes, it’s great,” Elena shouted then tasted the drink that had just landed in front of her.
Gus and Kevin were still lurking around, perfecting their approach. Elena watched the room noticing there were no male waiters or barmen. Only women. The DJ sat on an elevated podium and urged on the crowd with smutty remarks blended into his music.
“Like to dance?” she heard someone say and looked down at Kevin who was offering his hand. On a whim she took it, her head already swirling with the alcohol, and followed him to the dance floor. Natasha joined with Gus minutes later and they let themselves loose to the beat of the music. Bodies touching, sweat dripping, they danced with one another drawing a crowd. There was no thinking, just being, moving to the sounds of the music, raising their hands in the air; shaking their bodies. The ambience became heavy with odors from all sides as others now danced with them, rousing them, inspiring them.
Elena was not sure how long they spent on the dance floor but when they were back at the bar, she felt wasted, her clothes dripping wet. Someone stuck a beer bottle in her hand, which she gulped thirstily.
“Quite a show!” Natasha observed, still hollering over the relentless music.
“Haven’t had this much fun in years!” Elena shouted joyfully.
“It’s just what we both needed,” Natasha said.
“I want another tequila.”
“Watch yourself girl or I may need to carry you back.”
“Get the guys to do it,” Elena said referring to Gus and Kevin who were still loitering around.
“Not a very good idea.”
Elena flashed a weary smile then suddenly there were tears in her eyes. Feeling lightheaded she bent to embrace Natasha and began to sob.
Later, in a coffee shop two blocks from Ernesto’s, diluting the alcohol, Elena confided in her.
“I had so many plans for this
life,” she said teary-eyed, sipping her cappuccino. “None of it came out right. I married too young, the wrong guy and made all the mistakes a woman can make. Instead of going to university or starting a career, I sat home, did nothing, allowed him to provide for me, and felt sorry for myself we couldn’t have children.
“I should’ve dumped him a long time ago, when I realized it was no good. But I was afraid to be on my own. So the bastard dumped me. I’ll be forty next year and I have nothing.”
“You have Sam now, don’t you?” Natasha remarked.
“Not really. I mean, yes, we sleep together and make love, but he’s somewhere else. Looking for his son and still beating himself over Michelle. I don’t think I can handle such a relationship. I’m afraid to make a mistake again. It’s not going to last unless he puts it behind him.”
“He’ll never put it behind him,” Natasha observed solemnly. “Not as long as he thinks his Sammy’s out there somewhere.”
“Then at least he needs to put it aside,” Elena argued. “I don’t expect him to behave as if this no longer matters but for the sake of our relationship, any relationship, he at least needs to change his frame of mind.”
“How so?” Natasha asked.
Elena became silent. She hesitated about revealing her true wish: that she wanted her and Sam to have a child. It suddenly seemed selfish with all that was going on around them and Sam’s way of life.
But there was no roundabout way to say it. At her age, she was at the extremity of her childbearing odds. Not only was it getting very risky, it was also quite a daring commitment. At forty, changing diapers, spending sleepless nights and running around in playgrounds was a nuisance at best – and with far less energy and enthusiasm than at a younger age.
It was almost like having a grandchild, she thought.
Natasha was looking at her intently and as if reading her mind she said, “You want to have a kid, don’t you.”
Elena nodded.
“I fell in love with Sam when I was nineteen but cultural differences spoiled our chances. He was probably the only man I ever truly loved and I let him go, being young and stupid. I couldn’t imagine that at nineteen I would meet the right man. Now we have a second chance.”