“Seriously, Misch. Give him space. You spent so much time wishing for space from him – imagine that ten fold, and that's probably how he feels about you, right now.”
Doesn't feel so good when the tables are turned.
“Whatever. Fine.”
She glared at her food, pretending it was his face, but Tal ignored her.
“What should we do tonight? I know a great club, we could go dancing, I could finally see your moves,” he suggested. She looked up at him.
“I know what we could do.”
“What?”
“Go to your house.”
He scowled at her before looking away.
“No.”
When they'd made their plans to leave Italy together, Misch had honestly thought they would just stay at his house. She had planned on canceling her hotel room, till he told her not to, that she couldn't stay at his place. He said it was too small, too crappy. A total bachelor pad, and one that hadn't seen a duster in almost two months. Not worthy of her.
But a week and a half had gone by, and he still wouldn't let her go see it. He spent some nights there, claimed he was doing work around the place, but it still wasn't up to par. It all sounded very hard to believe.
“You're not keeping anything from me, are you? There isn't, like, a bunch of baby Tal's and a Mrs. Tal running around over there, are there?” Mischa even laughed, but she felt kind of sick, and remembered their conversation from when they'd first met.
“Would you care if there was a Mrs. Canaan?”
I most certainly fucking would.
“No. No Mrs. Tal. There hasn't really ever been a long-term-girlfriend-Tal,” he joked back.
“What about the babies?”
“Oh, tons of those. It's like a baby farm at my house. Just crawling all over the place, piled one on top of the other.”
“Great, I love babies. We should totally go over there.”
“Mischa.”
“Tal.”
He sighed and finally walked back over to her. He squatted down next to her chair and took both her hands in his, pressed them together between his own. Making her pray.
“My darling little dancer, I swear to you, when the time is right, I will take you anywhere you want to go. Including my home,” he promised her. She smiled at him.
“You're only sweet cause you know I'm a sucker.”
“Totally. Now let's get out of here or get naked.”
*
Mischa was brushing her teeth the next morning when her cell phone lit up. She glanced at the screen, then frowned. She'd gotten an e-mail, but she didn't recognize the address. She spit out the foam, then rinsed her mouth before picking up the phone. She got into her inbox and opened the e-mail.
“Oh my god,” she mumbled, and headed back into the main room.
Tal was at the foot of the super bed, doing a ridiculous amount of push ups. He had a whole workout routine, she'd discovered. He paid homage to his body every single day, and she was very thankful for that – the man's body was amazing. But right at that moment, she didn't even notice it.
“What's up,” he grunted, not looking up as she stepped over him and sat on the bed.
“He …,” her voice trailed off, as her eyes wandered down the screen.
“I can't hear you. Are you talking?” Tal called out.
“I'm getting divorced.”
Tal stopped mid-push up. Held himself still. Then he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbed his discarded t-shirt and mopped his face and chest with it.
“I thought that had been established,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. I mean, it's happening now. I just got an e-mail from a man claiming to be Mike's lawyer, saying he wants to know where to send the divorce papers,” she told him, her voice quiet.
“What address are you going to give them?”
She stayed quiet. Tal couldn't possibly understand what it felt like, though he meant well. It was the end of an era. A huge part of her life. She'd wanted it to be over, of course, but once again – nothing ever felt like how she thought it would.
“Probably the hotel,” she finally answered, clearing her throat. “Maybe the office.”
“Good. This is a good thing, Misch. It means he's been thinking things over. Eventually, he'll think his way back to you,” Tal assured her, smoothing his hand over the side of her head. She looked up at him and smiled.
“What a nice way to think of it.”
He leaned down and kissed her. It was hard and passionate, and she wondered if maybe she'd underestimated him and his understanding. This was a kiss to remind her of who she was with, and why she was leaving a different life behind.
Crazy boy, I could never forget.
Misch e-mailed the lawyer back, giving him the hotel's address. Then she went back to getting ready. Finished doing her hair and her makeup. Put on a dress and a pair of heels. Tal left with her, and as they waited for the metro, he pulled her into him. Kissed her. Made out with her. She felt stupid, thinking that at her age, but it actually made her giddy – when was the last time she'd “made out” with somebody? Forever. She loved it and gripped his t-shirt, kissing him deeper.
When her train arrived, he smacked her on the ass and squeezed it, practically shoving her into the car. She stood near the door, waving goodbye to him as they pulled away.
I can't believe this is real. How is this real? I don't deserve this … but maybe I do …
Mischa could admit she was a little star struck by Tal. He was exotic, and he was different from anyone she'd ever met. He was beautiful, with his dark eyes and thick hair, his mocha skin stretched over toned muscles. He was sexiness personified, and he was able to make her body come alive in ways she hadn't known were possible. He'd swept her off her feet, literally, and she'd never quite found the ground again.
After she got off the train, she kept daydreaming about him while she walked to work. As she started to head into her office building, she glanced up, then did a double take. She could've sworn the man driving a car down the street was Tal. She laughed at herself for seeing him everywhere. But then she kept staring, her hand stuck on the handle of the door.
No, it really was Tal. Driving a big, black car. Very similar to the car he'd had in Positano. She had assumed it was a rental. Range Rover, that's what he'd driven in Italy, and there, in shiny letters at the top of the grill, was the same name. It couldn't have been the same car. Could it?
“What are you doing?” she asked out loud, even though she knew he couldn't hear her.
She was bewildered at first, but it quickly turned to panic as the car jumped the curb and seemed to head straight for her. She shrieked and leapt out of the way, backing into an iron statue that was behind her. The car swerved, whipping around in a fish tail, and screeched to a stop alongside her.
“Get in!” Tal shouted out the open passenger window. Mischa gaped at him.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” she demanded.
“Shut the fuck up and get in the car, Misch!”
“Tell me what's going on!”
“Just do as I -,”
There was a whining noise, and the glass door to her right exploded. Misch screamed again, throwing her hands up. She stared at the door – or where the door used to be – and tried to figure out what had happened. But before she could turn back to Tal, the other glass door exploded. Then a window.
Shot. That glass is being shot out.
The realization had just barely occurred to her when all hell broke loose. She screamed and ducked as an ungodly amount of gunfire was unleashed on the front of the building.
She wasn't sure how long she was down there before someone was grabbing her. Tal was at her side, all but picking her up. He dragged her to the car and stuffed her in the back seat before he got back behind the wheel. The car peeled out as he shot off down the street.
“Are you okay!?” he was shouting. There was a pinging sound, and Misch realized the car was being shot at.
>
“NO I'M NOT FUCKING OKAY!” she screamed at him, folding herself to sit on the floor between the front seat and back seat.
“I meant, are you hurt? Did you get hit!?” he demanded, stretching an arm between the seats and reaching for her. She slapped his hand away.
“No! No! We're getting shot at!” she kept shrieking.
“Don't worry, the car is bullet proof.”
“WHY THE FUCK IS YOUR CAR BULLET PROOF!?”
Tal didn't answer anymore questions, no matter how much she screamed. The car raced along, and she was pretty sure they were air born at one point. She hugged the chair in front of her, screaming and praying for it to end.
What is going on!? How did I go from making out to getting shot at!?
They drove at breakneck speeds for about ten minutes. Then they broke away from the city. From her position on the floor, Misch could see the tops of trees out the window. But she still refused to get up. Not even when the car came to a stop. Not even when Tal told her it was safe. Not even when he got out and came around to her side, opening the door for her.
“C'mon, Mischa, you've gotta help a little,” he grumbled, curling his arms under her own and yanking.
She still didn't budge.
He finally managed to wrestle her out of the back seat, and he carried her away from the car. She could hear gravel crunching under his feet. Then she was jostled around as he used one of his hands. A minute later, and they were inside a building. She finally opened her eyes, but couldn't see anything.
“Where are we?” she asked, nervous that they were in the dark.
“My place.”
The lights came on and Misch glanced around. They were in a house. There were large, mismatched rugs everywhere, and everything was open. In front of them was a spacious, sunken living room, then steps up to a raised, exposed bedroom. Next to it was another room, but it was dark, and to their left was a kitchen that looked like it had been transported straight out of the 1980's.
This can't be anywhere but his home.
“Put me down,” she grumbled, shoving at his chest.
When she was on her own two feet, she realized she was missing a shoe. She kicked her remaining one off, then moved down into his living room. There were two sofas stretching away from each other, and an end table between them. No chairs, no coffee tables. Just rugs.
“I'm sorry it's messy,” he said from behind her.
Mischa slowly turned around to face him, holding her hands up. He stared back, his arms crossed. She was at a loss. They had been making out. They had gotten shot at. They were standing in his house.
“What THE FUCK is going on, Tal!?” she demanded.
“You need to relax. Go lay down, and I'll get you something to -,”
“I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING LAY DOWN, I WANT SOME GODDAMN ANSWERS!”
There was almost a wrestling style smack down, but Tal got her onto the bed. She stayed on top of the covers, curled against his pillows, while he went over to his kitchen. She glared at him when he came back, but she took the mug he was handing to her. When she sipped at the liquid, she coughed and almost spit it out.
“Beer!?” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, it was that or tea. I didn't want to boil water.”
She chugged down the rest of what was in the mug.
“Alright. I'm relaxed. I'm chill as fuck. Now tell me, please, what happened?” she panted, wiping beer off of her chin. Tal took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face.
“That was a terrorist attack,” he said in a simple voice, like he was explaining why the bus system was running late.
“I'm sorry. I'm kind of stupid. You'll have to be a little more specific. A what?” she asked.
“Dirty deals and trades have been going on, arms getting shipped through Syria, where they go mostly unnoticed because of the unrest going on over there. Guns, rocket launchers, ammo, all kinds of stuff, including information, has been flowing. But it's kinda like a phone line, you know? Turkey starts making calls to terrorists in Syria, and it was only a matter of time before they started calling back. Now al Qaeda and even ISIS groups are popping up. Sometimes, shit goes down,” Tal explained.
Mischa was aghast. Of course, she knew about the trouble in Syria, but she'd been assured that Istanbul was well away from it. That she would be safe. There had been no “hey, you might potentially get gunned down while walking to work” clause in the paperwork she'd signed before agreeing to travel for her job.
“My office building was shot up … by terrorists …,” she couldn't even voice her thoughts properly. Probably because she couldn't think properly, period.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Cause terrorists are dicks.”
Mischa burst out laughing, so hard she dropped her beer mug. Tal chuckled and took it away from her.
“How do you know all this?” she asked, fanning her hand in front of her face.
“I have some friends who keep me well informed,” he replied in a casual voice.
“Friends who are aware of imminent terrorist attacks, and they just call you up and randomly let you know?” she tried to clarify. He sighed and moved up so he was leaning against the pillows next to her.
“Look … I can't explain it all to you right now, okay? I know some people, who know some things. I knew that a terrorist attack, in the area of your workplace, was a possibility. And this morning, I got a call that it had gone from a possibility to a fact.”
“You knew this was a possibility, and you let me come here!?”
“Hey, I tried to talk you out of coming here. Lots of times.”
“Yeah, but never once was 'hey, you might get fucking shot' said! I might have been easier to convince if that had been mentioned!” she snapped at him.
“I couldn't say that, babe,” he sighed.
“Why not!?”
“I can't explain it.”
Mischa felt herself getting worked into a fluster. She scrambled to get off his bed, grumbling to herself as she went.
“I'm getting really fucking sick and tired of that response,” she informed him.
“I know. And I promise, I'll -,”
“And that one. I've heard it too much. When is it gonna be the right time, Tal!? Jesus, are you a terrorist!?” she suddenly gasped, staring down at him. He burst out laughing.
“No, I'm not a terrorist. Calm down,” he snorted at her as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back onto the mattress.
“Why can't you tell me anything? I thought we were in this together,” she switched tactics, softening her voice and blinking her eyes at him. He frowned.
“We are. Look, it's been a rough day. You look exhausted. Why don't you relax, take a nap. I'll make some phone calls. When you wake up, I promise – promise – I will tell you anything you want to know,” he offered.
Hmmm. Mischa was so wired up, had so much adrenaline pumping through her, that she felt like she could run a marathon. Sleeping was not an option. But she also really wanted to ask a lot of questions, and it was clear he needed some time to wrap his brain around answering them. She sighed.
“Can I take a shower?”
“Huh?”
She wanted to give him space, and to get the shattered glass out of her hair, so he showed her into his bathroom. She took her time in the shower, letting the hot water soak into her tense muscles. When it was time to rinse off, she was only able to shampoo her hair because that was all he had; stupid boy. There went any worries about a Mrs. Canaan – a woman needs conditioner. She wrapped a large, rough feeling towel around her body before heading out into the open area.
“Where are you?” she called out, rubbing a smaller towel over her head.
“In here!”
She went to his bedroom. It was a small space, more like a large nook, and the bed took up most of the room. There were little bookshelves along the walls on either side, and Tal was standing in front of one, holding a large scrapbook.
&nb
sp; “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just looking at some old pictures.”
She went and stood next to him, looked down at the book. Then she laughed. He had the page opened to a bunch of pictures of when he'd been in the army.
“You're adorable!” she cooed. He grunted.
“Shut up.”
Adorable probably wasn't the right thing to say, but “sexy as fuck” would have been appropriate. He was young in the picture, probably eighteen or nineteen. He still had his tan skin, even had dark stubble on his jaw. He had a bandana or a flag or something wrapped around his forehead, pushing his hair back, and he had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth while he gave a cocky, sly smirk to the camera.
The picture got slightly less adorable as she looked down, though. He was dressed in full military gear, camouflage pants and a matching jacket, with a flak jacket over it. He had a scary looking rifle in his arms – M16? Is that what they were called? – and other weapons strapped to his belt.
“Where were you?” Mischa asked, smoothing her fingers over the picture.
“A military base. Biranit, near Galilee,” he said, and he wrapped a thick accent around the words, something she'd never heard him do before. He spoke Italian with an American accent so obvious, even she'd been able to hear it – and she didn't even speak Italian.
“Do you know how to speak …,” she searched her brain to think of what was spoken in Israel. “Hebrew?”
“Yeah, grew up speaking it, and Arabic, and English. Learned Italian when we moved to America,” he replied.
“You don't speak Turkish?” she questioned.
“Not really.”
Mischa glanced back down at the picture. She kept honing in on the gun. Such a small part of the picture, such a big bang. She tried to picture Tal shooting a gun, with his easy manner and big smile. But then again, he'd looked pretty scary when he'd confronted Ruiz, in Rome. He'd probably look pretty scary holding a weapon, too. She wished he'd had one earlier, when they'd been getting shot at, but then that thought made her realize something else.
My Time in the Affair Page 19