My Time in the Affair

by Stylo Fantome

  “I'll be there.”

  “You better.”

  Ruiz glared one more time, then stomped back to his car. Peeled out of the field.

  Tal understood. It'd been just the two of them for a long time. Long winters in Moscow, quick fire fights in Rio, dangerous hidey-holes in Kuwait. Ruiz was jealous; his partner had found a new partner.

  Lucky for him, it was a partnership that couldn't last.

  Tal didn't want to go to HQ. He didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to drive back to Rome as fast as possible. Kneel at the feet of a beautiful dancer and beg for forgiveness. Beg for mercy. Share all his secrets and lies, and see if she really meant it, when she said she felt the same way about him, as he felt about her. Of course, it was easy for him to think like that – he already knew everything about her.

  She knew so little about him.

  Lying normally came easy to Tal. It was part of his job, almost part of his being, at that point in life. He didn't think twice about it, used it to get what he wanted, to learn what he wanted. He virtually never took the time to wonder how it made him feel, to see if he felt any guilt or remorse. In fact, he usually made it a point to feel as little as possible.

  Mrs. Rapaport had cured him of that, had given him a very healthy reminder of what both guilt and remorse felt like.

  Maybe this is how it needs to be, Misch. For what it's worth, you were the best mission I ever had.

  ~The Amalfi Coast~

  God, Positano was beautiful.

  Mischa soaked it in. Dropped her luggage off at the hotel and immediately went down to the beach. Buried her feet in the sand right at the water's edge and just stood there. Let the waves crash against her legs while she looked off into the horizon.

  Tal had left her in that hotel room in Rome, though not on the floor – he'd helped her into bed, first. Gave her a slow kiss goodbye. So sad. He hadn't said what his phone call had been about, but based on his kiss, she'd guessed it. He had to go. Possibly for a couple days.

  Mischa would be in Positano in a few days.

  It was goodbye, without actually saying the words. Enough words had been said. Too many words, and they would break all the way. Misch was already cracked down the middle, she couldn't stand the thought of saying goodbye.

  He didn't come back. She received a phone call, but she was packing when it came in, holding the picture of her and Mike. She let the call go, didn't answer. It was for the best.

  Too many words. Don't let them in.

  The night before she left Rome, she listened to his voicemail – two days after he'd left.

  “Hey, dancer lady. I wanted to say this in person, but it just wasn't possible. I won't be back before you leave. I hate that, not getting to say goodbye for real. Not getting to see you one more time. Just … don't forget me. Don't forget us. Don't forget who you are, not who you think you need to be when you're with him. Be nice to him, but don't be weak. You owe it to him. And don't be scared. You're strong, Misch. And stop thinking you're a horrible person. You're not. He's not. You're just not in love. That's not horrible. It's just sad. Don't confuse the two. Take care of you, take care of your heart. And just … please don't forget us.”

  It had been very, very, very hard not to call him back. To not beg him to take her away from everything. She didn't care what his job was, or where he was going, she just wanted to be with him. Just wanted to be lost with him.

  Come find me.

  She took a train to Naples, then a driver took her to her hotel in Positano. She was supposed to be traveling with her boss, but he'd had to fly back to the U.S. to organize some other permits and licenses. He would meet her in Turkey. She was thankful for the time alone, even if it was only a couple days. Also, she was upgraded from her boring room to his two bedroom suite.

  Made feeling like shit a little less horrible.

  She was on her way back up to her hotel when her phone rang. It hadn't rung since Tal had called. She practically ripped her back pocket off trying to get it out. But it wasn't him.

  “Are you excited!?” Mike's voice chirped down the line.

  “Tired would be a closer approximation to how I'm feeling,” Mischa sighed.

  “Aw, poor sweetie. Long trip?” he asked, doing his baby voice. It used to make her laugh. Now it just made her feel like a horrible, goddamn monster, cheating slut-bag, fuck, such a horrible person, fuck, FUCK.

  “Something like that. What time do you get in?” she asked.

  “My itinerary says I should be at your hotel around six in the evening. I can't wait! Did you find somewhere for us to eat? It feels like it's been forever since I've seen you,” he groaned.

  “Me, too,” she whispered, wiping at her tears.

  “And I should probably tell you something,” he started, and she could hear it in his voice. Another hour long “Misch-doesn't-speak” conversation was in the works. She couldn't handle that, not anymore.

  “Oh god. Just wait till you get here. We have a lot to talk about. A lot,” she stressed.

  Of course, he ignored her.

  “I just want you to know before you come home. My mom has been rearranging. I think you'll really like it, she threw away the old couch and got us -,”

  “She threw away my couch!?”

  “C'mon, Misch, it was old. And she got us this cool leather sectional,” he went on.

  “I hate leather furniture. You know that,” she snapped.

  “I know, I know, but you know how she is, and I really think you'll like it. And she took all your clothes to be dry-cleaned. That's nice,” he offered.

  What. The ever loving. Fuck.

  “She touched my clothes!?” Misch hissed.

  “Only the ones in the closet.”

  Only my nicest, my most expensive.

  “Michael Rapaport. You know, you know, how I feel about this shit. You know. Why would you let her do that!?” Mischa demanded.

  “Cause she's been really nice and taking care of me while somebody is on the other side of the world. And everything is fine, you can't even tell. Except for your one suede jacket, I guess that got ruined, but you never wear it anymore,” he said.

  Misch worked to control her anger. She never wore the suede jacket anymore because it had been a gift from a high school friend who was now dead. Normally, a huge screaming fight would ensue, with lots of colorful words pointed right at his bitch-face mother. But what he'd said stopped her, “... while somebody is on the other side of the world.” Tag on what she'd really been doing while there, and … she had no right to be mad. About anything. He could set fire to the house, and she'd have to smile and say thanks.

  Cause I'm a horrible person.

  He rambled on and on about the changes his mom made. Misch pretended to listen, all the way up to her hotel room. She sat on the railing of her balcony and made the appropriate responses at the appropriate points in the conversation. At the end of the phone call, he signed off with his usual “love ya!”; she didn't say it back. She wanted to feel guilty, but as she sat her phone down, another voice swept through her mind.

  “... stop thinking you're a horrible person … take care of you, take care of your heart.”

  But that was hard to do, when it was somewhere else.

  *

  The next day, she woke up feeling a little better. Tal's words were strong in her mind. She'd done a horrible thing, but that didn't necessarily make her a horrible person. She had to be strong. For her. For Michael. And even for Tal. He'd done something amazing for her. She would pay him back.

  She spent the afternoon making phone calls. She had two days till Mike got there - after that she knew the shit would hit the fan. His friends were her friends, and vice versa. Her friend Lacey's husband was Mike's best friend, Misch was sure to lose her. And Mischa's own mother loved Mike. Like loooooooved him. She would be beyond upset. Of course, Mike's mom would be upset, but she'd never liked Mischa, anyway.

  Maybe she knew something the rest of us didn't.
<
br />   “Hey girl!” Lacey's voice squealed in her ear.

  “Hey! How are you?” Misch laughed, pulling herself up onto the balcony railing. It wasn't so much a railing as a half wall, made of rock. She was able to sit flat on it and cross her legs.

  “Good! So good. You'd be so proud, dancer lady, I've kept up with the work outs!”

  Dancer lady …

  “That's awesome, Lace, congrats.”

  “How about you? Has all that Italian food gone to your ass?” Lacey teased.

  “A little,” Misch chuckled. She'd actually gained around five or more pounds. She'd been upset at first, but Tal said he liked it. All her weight went to her ass.

  “I haven't talked to you in about a week, how're things? Where are you now?” Lacey questioned.

  “I'm on the coast, things are good. We go to Istanbul after this,” Misch answered.

  “I would kill to be you. And I was thinking, I've been looking at our schedules, and Bob and the baby are going to visit his mom – maybe I can get out of it and visit you! Is there anything fun to do in Istanbul?” Lacey questioned. Misch swallowed a groan.

  “I don't know. Let's just put that on pause, Lace,” she said slowly.

  “You sound kinda sad. Is something wrong?” her friend asked.

  “No. Yes. It's been a long trip,” Misch sighed, running her hand over her face.

  “Aw. You miss Mikey, don't you?” Lacey said in a sad voice.

  “I … I miss a lot of things. Lacey,” Misch breathed.

  “What's up?”

  “You love me, right?”

  “Of course, doll! We're besties! Wherest thou go, I goest, and all that jazz,” Lacey laughed.

  “Good. That's good to know.”

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  “Because right now, I need to know that someone loves me.”

  She managed to change the subject after that, though it wasn't easy. She really really wanted to confess everything, see if her soul was salvageable. But she wanted Mike to be the first to know, so she held off. Convinced Lacey that it was just home-sickness, and left off with a laugh.

  The next phone call she made was at once harder and easier. She dialed her parents' house.

  “Honey! I been dyin' to hear your voice!”

  Oh thank god thank god thank god it's him.

  Mischa had always had a close relationship with her father. She and her mother got along fine, but she and her dad were on another level. He probably knew her the best of anyone, even Mike. When she and Mike had problems – which was all the time – her father was the person she ran to, the person she cried to.

  “Hey, Dad, how are you?” she said, finally smiling. Really smiling.

  “Oh I'm good, I'm good. Damn hip is killing me, but that's life. How are you!? How is the Italian de Janeiro?” he asked, and she laughed.

  “I think you mean Italian Riviera, and that's not where I am. But where I am is really super nice. You would love it. Sunshine, beaches, hot ladies,” she told him.

  “I do live for the hot ladies. Speaking of your mom, she's right here – wanna talk to her?” he offered.

  “No,” Misch replied quickly, then winced. “I mean, I don't have a lot of time, so you can just relay. How're things? Feels like I've been gone for a lifetime.”

  “Pffft, feels longer to this old man. I miss your face, sweetie. Things are good, real good. Retirement ain't exactly all it's cracked up to be, I'm bored most of the time. Should've come with you,” he said. When Misch had first been offered the job, she'd asked her dad to go with her. Now she wasn't sure if she was glad he hadn't come, or if it would've been better if he had come.

  Don't say that. You're not a horrible person, and enjoying your time with Tal doesn't make you that way. If you had never met him, that would've been horrible.

  “Yeah, yeah, I'll be home before you know it. We're going to Istanbul next week, hopefully it won't take as long as Rome did, then Armenia, then home,” she ran over her itinerary again.

  “So far away. Mikey's comin' out there this weekend, isn't he?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

  There was a pause, and she could hear that her father was moving around. Leaving whatever room he was in and moving to another.

  “You guys talk a lot while you're over there?” he asked in a cautious voice.

  “Uh, no, not really. Haven't really talked much at all, actually,” she was honest.

  “Baby, you need to just say what you want, and mean what you say,” her father's voice was soft.

  “I know, Dad. I know. And he and I are gonna talk. Believe me, we're gonna talk,” she groaned.

  “Well, you know I love you, and I support any decisions you make,” he assured her. She took a deep breath.

  “Really, Dad? Any decision?” she challenged him.

  “Of course, sweetie.”

  “What if I decide to shave my head and pierce my nose?” she threw out there, and he laughed. “Or what if I quit my job and become a trapeze artist? Or … what if I joined a commune, shacked up with three different guys?”

  The last one was as close as she could get to testing his fatherly love in regards to her indiscretion.

  “If you wanna look stupid, that's your own choice, doesn't make a difference to me, and I always loved the circus, so I would be thrilled if you took that trapeze job. And while I don't think you're cut out for commune life, as long as those boys treat you right, I'm sure I could get used to it,” he responded to all her suggestions.

  Mischa took another deep breath and closed her eyes. Let her head drop back. Let the setting sun burn the side of her face. Let her thoughts run on and on, until her father asked if she was still there.

  He was very intuitive, they were very close, and he knew something was up. Knew something was wrong. But Mischa wiggled around, made small talk, and eventually worked her way off the call. Made kissy noises in the phone before she said goodbye.

  In Rome, she'd always been busy. With work during the day, then all her evenings with Tal. So her days and her nights had been filled. In Positano, the free time was killing her. She'd lain awake for hours the night before, her mind and heart racing. Going over and over what she would say to Mike. Going over and over what she wished she'd said to Tal.

  Her next night was shaping up to be the same. There was some sort of festival going on in the town, but she wasn't about to take part. She planned on ordering up some room service and trying to find something, anything, to distract herself. Maybe pull her fingernails off with a pair of tweezers. Anything. The idea of talking to Mike made her want to throw up, but the idea of never seeing Tal again … it was actually worse. It made her want to explode.

  When she'd been making her rounds with the phone, she had tried calling another friend, and the girl hadn't answered, so when her cell rang, Misch assumed it was her. She was laying face down on her bed, trying to suffocate herself with the pillows, so she didn't even look at it, just groped around for her phone and brought it to her ear.

  “What time is it there? It's almost midnight here,” she grumbled.

  “Weird, it's the exact same time where I am.”

  Misch sat up so fast, her hand slipped on a pillow, throwing off her balance. She squeaked and tumbled to the floor, landing in a heap with the blankets. Her phone was buried under the comforter and she almost had a panic attack scrambling for it.

  “Is this real?” she gasped when she finally had it again.

  “Very real,” Tal's voice was deep. It had only been about four days since she'd talked to him, but it felt like a lot longer. In her mind, it was so much longer.

  “I'm sorry we didn't get to say goodbye. I'm sorry I missed your call. I'm sorry I didn't call you back. I'm sorry -,” she began rambling.

  “Misch, stop. It's okay. We're talking now,” he said. She nodded.

  “I miss you,” she whispered.

  “Good. Is he there?”

  “No, not yet.”

&nb
sp; “Good.”

  “How are you? How was work?” she asked, twisting her fingers in the blanket.

  “Work was work. How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  “Really?”

  “... no, not really. But I'll be okay,” she was honest.

  “I won't.”

  “What?” she was caught off guard.

  “I won't be okay until I see you again. I shouldn't have left like that, I had to come back,” he explained. She closed her eyes. It felt so good to hear him say it, but it didn't make things easier.

  “Tal, I wish we could, but I can't come back to Rome. I leave for Istanbul in four days,” she told him.

  “I'm not in Rome.”

  She stopped breathing.

  “Where are you?”

  “I'm in your lobby.”

  She leapt up from the floor and began pacing, another nervous habit. He was in her lobby!? What!? How!? He was supposed to be in another country! How did he even know which hotel she was at!?

  “Don't do this. Don't do this to me,” she moaned.

  “I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself.”

  “I know it's hard, but you can't be here! Mike will be here in two days. I can't be with you and then be with him, see you and then see him,” she babbled.

  “You better not 'be with' him,” Tal growled.

  “God, of course not! You think I could do that!? But I can't be sneaking off to see you during the days, and then coming home to him for the nights. I already hate myself enough as it is,” she tried to explain.

  “Stop it, you don't hate yourself. And I'm not asking you to do all that, just be with me tonight,” he suggested. Her free hand went into her hair.

  “You're making this so much harder, Tal. Why? Will it be easier to say goodbye tomorrow morning than it was Rome?” she demanded.

  “No. It'll be hell. But I already went through it once; at least this time, I'll get to see your face when I say goodbye.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “I can't see you,” she whispered. “I can't see you, then go see him. I just can't. It wouldn't be right. I've already done so much wrong, Tal. I can't, I can't, I can't.”