Love's Illusions: A Novel

by Cazzola, Jolene

  “I know… I know. I shouldn’t have done those things, and I’m sorry – I was an asshole, but… Jack, just listen to me, please – I was fucked up… I didn’t mean to hurt you, I really didn’t. I… could we talk? Something’s happened, and I need to talk to you… Will you come see me?” he asked, his voice also rising in volume, but with the same tone of sincerity it had a few minutes before.

  “What happened? You just said something’s happened – what is it?” I replied no longer sarcastic, but now concerned.

  “I’ll explain when you get here. I don’t want to talk on the phone, will you come?”

  “Tell me now, Stephen.”

  “No, I can’t… Would you please just come? I’d just like to see you and talk, not argue.”

  “Okay – when and where do you want to meet?”

  I could hear him let out a deep sigh as he said, “Thank you – I… Well I’m at Cook County Hospital in Room 312…”

  I cut him off, panic taking over every thought in my head, picturing him having been hit by a car or bus or mugged and beaten up. “Have you been in an accident, are you alright? Tell me now Stephen, just tell me!”

  “No, I haven’t been hit by a bus or anything,” he said as if he were reading my mind. “I’ll be fine – I’ll tell you everything when you get here. Let’s just not do this on the phone. Can you come today; the visiting hours are until 8 pm?”

  “Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks… I’ll see you soon then. And Jack?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You know I’ve always loved you,” he said.

  His words hit me like a baseball bat. My mind racing in circles, stuck on those words, all I could say was, “I’m leaving now,” and I hung up.

  ~~~~~~~~

  I thought about calling Michael, telling him about the phone call and where I was going, but then reconsidered, not wanting him to insist on going with me, and reasoning that I didn’t know much of the story at this point anyhow. After all I didn’t want him to worry. Instead I threw on my dark blue, down jacket, gloves, scarf and woolen hat, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. As I got into the elevator, I decided to take the bus to the hospital instead of driving. My parents had ‘loaned’ Stephen and me an ugly blue, 1968, 4-door, Ford Fairlane, when we married so we would have reliable transportation. But no, it would be better if I took the bus – it would take a little longer to get there, but the bus would give me more time to think.

  My mind sprinted… going over and over the phone conversation, picking apart every word that was said. “He had always loved me,” that was the main thing, the only thing that was important at this moment. He called me. He wanted to see me. He loved me – the words echoed over again and again in my brain. I knew, without a doubt that I still loved him. This has been some kind of huge misunderstanding, I thought. Whatever happened for him to wind up in the hospital, maybe it had to happen for a reason – so we could get back together. If I’d only given him a chance – I knew there had to be some reasonable explanation about all the names of guys in his address book… and Bernie, well maybe Bernie was stoned, was confused about what he actually saw that night. Maybe this was all just some kind of bad dream – at last I was waking up, and the nightmare would be over! Yep, that was it… why would Stephen call me from the hospital if everything wasn’t going to work out? This nightmare I had been living in was going to be over! It was a good thing I hadn’t said anything to Michael – I would deal with him later, but if he’d come with me - how the hell would I have been able to explain to Stephen that I’d been fucking this guy for months – shit how the hell was I ever going to explain any of my life since he had left? Well, I thought, he’ll just have to be understanding, that’s all. I mean, if I could be understanding about whatever he was going to say, about what he may or may not have done, then he’d have to be understanding about me too – it was the only way we could put things back together.

  By the time I walked into Stephen’s room, I was accepting 95% of the blame myself, even telling myself I had been right not to tell my parents any of the details about why we split up yet. I was sure it would all work out.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Cook County was one of the older hospitals in the city. Located on the near west side of downtown, it was huge – a maze of stark corridors that twisted and turned in every possible direction. Nurses, orderlies, doctors and other medical staff generally bustled about. I got lost – even asking directions three or four times, it took forever to find Stephen’s room.

  Room 312 had three beds in it. There was a middle aged man who attempted a smile as I entered the room in the bed by the door; he looked as if he was in a drunken stupor, but as I paused, I realized he was drugged up. The center bed had a much older man with a wrinkled face and full head of grey hair. His eyes were closed, his breathing seemed labored as if each breath hurt – he looked very sick, and I couldn’t tell if he was even awake. Stephen’s bed was on the side of the room by the window. When he saw me hesitating in the doorway a giant smile swept over his face as he raised both arms beckoning me to him to give me a hug. Overcome by emotion, my throat closed, and salty tears dropped down my face to the corners of my mouth. Reaching his bed, he kissed my cheek and then gave me a quick, soft peck on my lips as he released his embrace.

  Smiling like the day we first met, his voice pitch perfect, and his dark brown eyes soft and filling with tears of his own at the corners, he said, “You look good Jack– I’m glad you’ve been taking care of yourself. I always knew you would.”

  “Huh,” I coughed in reply, reaching for a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand next to his bed to dry the tears that were rolling down my cheeks and clearing my throat. “You don’t, you look like shit – what happened? Why are you here? Why have you got that IV in your arm?”

  At that moment a thought struck me like a thunderbolt… Oh shit, Stephen and Michael have the same look! No they don’t look alike, they’re not twins, but they’re the same type! Stephen is shorter than Michael –and not so broadly built, not so muscular, but Christ, they both have straight, almost black hair, the same mustaches and the same general coloring, and they’re both Polish; but no, they’re not anything alike, especially not in bed. Shit, shit, shit – no, you can’t think about that now.– Sex wasn’t everything, in fact it was pretty meaningless as I’d managed to prove since this living hell began.

  My thoughts snapped back as Stephen replied, “Thanks for the compliment, I don’t feel very well at the moment either, but nothing happened, I mean… it was just a stupid, clumsy accident, that’s all. Pull the curtain will you? That guy over there is half dead. I’ve been trying to talk to him all afternoon, but he rarely responds. I think he’s got cancer or something – he seems like he’s in a lot of pain. I doubt if he’s listening, but I’d like some privacy so I can talk to my wife, okay?”

  As I drew the curtain through the ceiling track between the beds to meet the opposite wall, the word wife resounded in my ears, and joined the phrase I’ve always loved you, causing me to smile back, letting my own love and concern for him show on my face. Stephen had plucked a Kleenex from the box himself and dried his own eyes. He was not a crier; he rarely showed this much emotion. This had to be real. Oh please God, let this be real!

  “Give me another hug and sit down,” he said patting the edge of the bed as he pushed himself towards the other side making room for me. He had a pillow propped by his lower back so he wasn’t lying flat, but not on his side either. When he was settled, I sat down picking up his hand and giving it a light squeeze. The emotion in the air between us was so thick it was palpable – a mix of excitement and sorrow blending in an almost incomprehensible way. It felt good. But as the seconds passed, I could sense we needed a diversion, something to break the growing awkwardness of the moment, to give both of us a chance to breathe, so I said, “This is a dreary place… needs some color, and maybe a few pictures on the walls – and that zig
zag design on the curtain…” My voice trailed off, I frowned and turned up my nose.

  He laughed, “God, you’re right – how do they expect anyone to feel better when they’re surrounded by nothing but white walls, dime store pictures, and all this stainless steel equipment.”

  It worked. Discussing various decorating ideas and what could be done with the linoleum tile floors, gave us a chance to be in the same room with each other for the first time since spring – like getting to know each other all over again.

  Unfortunately, after a few minutes, the subject died and the reality of the present situation came back. My eyes darted to the IV in his arm again, and I asked once more, “What happened, Stephen… Why are you in here?”

  He let go of my hand, placing it down on the bed, and crossed his arms across his stomach as if he was protecting himself from me, then said, “I fell off a ladder at work.”

  “What!” I exclaimed, “You fell? What work? You’ve got a job here again?”

  “Yeah, I went to work for Joe when I got back to Chicago. I needed to make some money, and the guy Joe had hired to replace me wasn’t working out, so he gave me my old job back.”

  I could feel my muscles tightening as Joe’s name came up, but Stephen didn’t seem to notice. He continued, “So anyhow, I was on a ladder in the store room trying to get boxes of Christmas decorations ready to put up around the store when I leaned, lost my balance and fell. I landed on my tail bone.” He hesitated, his eyes darting up to meet mine. He had diverted his gaze during this recount, fingering the tape that was holding the IV in place. Satisfied with whatever he saw on my face, he went on. “It hurts like hell and well, to be honest, I’m having a hard time going to the bathroom. Joe took me to a doctor, and he said I’d have to have surgery to fix things. So here I am in this Godawful place.” He saw my eyes fix on the IV and added, “Oh yeah, this just has some antibiotic in it so I don’t pick up any infections from the surgery while I’m here.”

  I nodded, “When are they doing it?”

  “Tomorrow, early morning,” he replied.

  We both fell silent again. The sense of privacy formed by that ugly zigzag pattern curtain around the bed seemed to disappear as I listened to the old man in the other bed straining to breathe, and emitting an occasional pitiful moan. Nurses and visitors passed by the open door chatting nonchalantly, but I couldn’t make out any of their words. The only thing I can remember thinking at that moment was how white-white the walls were.

  Stephen reached out and touched my hand again before things became too awkward. As I lifted my head, his eyes met mine and he said, “It’ll be alright – the doctor said the surgery could fix the problem.” I pressed my lips together, but before I could speak he asked, “Maybe you know, am I still on that insurance policy your parents got for us? I figured I might be at least until the end of the year, but I wasn’t sure if they had removed me when…” He hesitated looking for the right words, “…when we split up. I didn’t know what you may have said to them.”

  “I haven’t said much. I mean, I had to tell them we’d split up – they were always asking to talk to you; but I haven’t told them why or anything that happened. I stayed here all summer, and didn’t go home for Thanksgiving either, so I’ve, well I’ve just been putting off any real explanations. I’m going home for Christmas though and I’ll have to tell them then.”

  “What are you going to say?” he asked, the tone of his voice sounding a tad unsteady.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “I think you are on the policy, like you said, until the end of the year. I believe my father said he paid the policy in advance, so I doubt if he’s changed it at this point.”

  Stephen sighed, relieved at this and asked, “Do you still carry the card with you? If so, could you leave it with me so I can give it to the billing department here?”

  Without answering, as if my actions were on autopilot, I picked my purse up from the floor where I’d dropped it when I came in, and started shuffling through various cards in my wallet. Finding the insurance card, I handed it to him. “Thanks,” he said putting it down on the night stand next to the Kleenex box.

  “I’m actually surprised they admitted you without giving them this information,” I stated.

  “Yeah, well,” he answered, “as you can tell by the décor – this is one of the hospitals that has to take indigent patients. That’s why I’m here, and not in one of the private places. But this will help,” he added lifting his chin in the direction of the night stand, indicating the insurance card. “Thanks again.”

  Our conversation dying, I looked at the floor not knowing what to say. Stephen was gazing out the window, then turned back to me, and asked what I had done here all summer. I gave him a quick update about moving to a smaller apartment off Diversey, assuring him that I kept his things; he could have them anytime he wanted, and I told him about working at The Canteen, managing to leave out any reference to Michael or any of the men that preceded him. I figured there would be plenty of time to explain that later. Stephen just nodded and smiled saying again that he was glad things were working out for me.

  I wanted to scream, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT WORKING OUT – NOTHING IS WORKING OUT – I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD JUMP IN FRONT OF AN “L” TRAIN HALF THE TIME, but instead just smiled back, letting the feeling dissipate, trying to keep myself from saying something I would regret – now was not the time to open my big mouth.

  The air in the room was becoming thick again, almost stifling this time, but with a very different feel, different consciousness than when I first arrived. This time neither of us was able to meet the other’s eyes, each of us lost in our own thoughts. That sense of connection, that elusive thread of maybe being brought back together that I felt, was fading. Was it only wishful thinking on my part? Stephen seemed anxious, uneasy about something too.

  I gave in to the feeling and said, “Stephen, falling off a ladder and landing on your butt doesn’t make sense. I mean… Why do you need surgery for that, unless you broke your tailbone or something – did you? I don’t understand – to me ‘surgery’ usually means something internal.” The words spilled out of me before I had a chance to censor them or think about the tone of my voice.

  His head jerked up, his eyes narrowed some and his voice raised, “Well that’s what happened – I can’t help it if you’ve never heard of it before… I landed on my tail bone – it’s not broken, but I need surgery. That’s it, pure and simple. Don’t you believe me?” His voice was solid, almost challenging as he added, “You can ask Joe if you don’t believe me – he was there, and saw the whole thing.”

  I shook my head indicating that I didn’t want to speak with Joe. “I talked to him, well actually I confronted him – I broke a vase he had on his desk – after you left Chicago. I suppose he told you about that, huh? I doubt if he’s any more anxious to see me again than I am to see him.”

  “I know, he told me. He lied to you Jackie… what he told you was a lie.”

  “What… what do you mean? Why would he lie to me at that point?”

  “Joe and I got into an argument just before I left. You know I was pretty fucked up, and I told you I did some things I’m not proud of. I made some mistakes, well… just suffice it to say, when you went to his office, he lied. I think he was trying to get back at me.”

  My head started to fragment. I was trying to remember details of the conversation I had had with Joe all those months ago, but at the moment, all I heard was Stephen’s voice saying Joe had lied. I wanted to accept everything he was saying, wanted to think that Joe and Bernie were full of shit… It would be so easy – all I had to do was believe, but it didn’t make any sense, it just didn’t! I needed time to think, so I changed the subject, sort of.

  “When you left, I know you went back to Weymouth, but where? I tried calling the house, more than once, but the first time, your mother answered, she said you were staying in Boston with some old friend.”

  “My mother,”
he snorted shaking his head, looking away. I knew what that look on his face meant when he was talking about her. The woman was a total bitch. God only knew how much she hated me. Oh she was nice enough to my face, but did everything in her power to break us up during high school, and before we were married. Virginia was a passive aggressive, selfish shrew who used people to get whatever she wanted at that moment. I could only imagine how pleased she was to hear that our marriage was on the rocks.

  “Yeah, well that’s why I called back. I got Diana the second time – she said school was good and, after chatting for a bit, she told me you were there sometimes, but most of the time you were out.”

  “Well my mother had told all the girls to lie, and tell you I wasn’t there, even if I was. Diana always liked you, I’m sure that’s the only reason you got that much information,” he said still shaking his head. Stephen had five sisters – one older, then four younger, whose ages all coincided with the re-emergence of his father back into the household, the youngest was now a toddler. Stephen had always described his father as a ‘door-mat’ until he got mad, and then he turned into a belligerent, monster who lashed out at everyone in the family.

  “The third time I tried I got your mother again,” I continued. “This time she didn’t even try to conceal her feelings – she told me not to call there again, that if you wanted to talk to me, you would call, but she hoped you never would.” Stephen’s jaw was tightening as I said, “Then she told me she wanted that old mantel clock back, you know, the one that belonged to your grandmother – I had no right to anything you may have left behind, so I shouldn’t get too attached, because the stuff was hers.”