“Well isn’t that nice?”
“It’s been too long since we’ve reminisced. What was your Fourth ex-husbands name?”
“Bob,” she said.
“Aren’t you married to a Bob now?”
“Yes.” She didn’t like where this was going. “And stay on the topic at hand. We’re talking about my life here.” She pronounced my life like an overzealous Scarlet O’Hara.
“Same thing. So you divorced Bob and then married another Bob?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you may just be proof that evolution can work in reverse? Don’t be a dick,” she said.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s Bob’s job.”
She hung up.
“Wow, you’re popular,” Cousin Joe said. “About as popular as Grandfather Ira with his three daughters. Seems like everyone loves you but your own family.”
“A prophet is without honor in his own hometown.” I answered him. “Look it up. It’s in the Bible.”
“Perhaps you need a new hometown,” he said.
I took another longing gaze at the city of New York.
“I think I’m looking at it.”
17
I spent most of my Sunday listening to the distant hums and honks of the city and reading Ellie’s bestseller, Babies Are Atheists, in-between lunch and that jog across the Brooklyn Bridge. I’d finally succumbed to its temptations. When I purchased it a couple of days earlier at Barnes & Noble on Fifth Avenue, the man behind the counter said there were still a few signed copies available from her recent signing, and they only cost a few dollars more. I shelled out the extra.
It was a short read. Basically it all boiled down to the fact that she was still reeling from the traumas of her formative years, but weren’t we all? The human experiment is incredible, how a single event can turn multiple witnesses down completely different paths. Underneath its very attractive cover, Babies Are Atheists was a tragic read on the mere basis that Ellie ultimately concluded she was a non-characteristic accident of unconscious evolution, like everything else in nature. I couldn’t fathom enjoying any singular aspect of the world, like a barking sea lion hidden in the tide or the orgasmic adrenaline of sex with nobody to thank. Her understandings of God and of love and of grace were way too small, and I got the feeling that she spent her life desperately hoping God would do nothing further to disturb her disbelief. I closed the book feeling depressed and stared at the naked author on its cover for a time.
I guess it wasn’t a complete wash.
18
“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t seal the deal and bang her.” Alex stared down at the lush foliage of Gramercy Park, his temporary kingdom, and a dozen or so passing pedestrians from the massive window in Cousin Joe’s townhouse.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still married, and despite all that’s happened between Elise and I, I’d like to keep it that way. I would never want to betray her trust like that.”
I returned Babies Are Atheists to the coffee table.
“It’s not fair that your wife can go about doing what she’s doing with that flapdoodler while you devote yourself like a saint to the King Arthur knighthood.”
“I’m not that pure, Alex. Purity goes way beyond our physical behavior. And I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“That girl wanted you.”
“I couldn’t have slept with her if I wanted to.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved me off with his hand. “You want to wake up with her every morning until the second coming. I don’t get it. Morning till night she was blushing at the mere sight of you. I swear she would have kissed the ground you walked on had you asked her to. It was the same thing with that flight attendant. I would have had her doing nude jumping jacks for me. And in Hawaii, that one stripper chick would have unzipped your pants, dropped them to your ankles, lifted her skirt and….”
I stopped him. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before… and it didn’t end well. Erica wasn’t asking for sex. She was a lady.”
“I know you liked her.”
“Yeah, I did. But she was just being kind and courteous. Attraction isn’t lust. Don’t confuse the two. And besides, a long distant relationship simply wouldn’t work. I’d just end up sending her down a trampled primrose path.”
“That girl didn’t want your heart. Don’t confuse those two.”
“Let me guess. It’s the pheromones.”
“You got it.”
This conversation wasn’t going well. I should have quit while I was ahead. “If I recall, we made a deal, a pretty sweet one, too. I’d bring you across the country and teach you about photography. I’d even give you a kick-start in the business. All you had to do was control yourself. No getting drunk, no fighting, and above all else, keep your beef whistle in your pants. So far you’ve failed at every single one of them.”
“Well maybe I’m trying to teach you a thing or two, like how not to be a wedged pair of whoopee cakes all the time. If you’d observe a little more, maybe you wouldn’t be moping around all the time.”
“Why does it bother you that I’m trying so desperately to keep myself pure for my wife, and if not for her, then whoever comes along next?”
“You know, it doesn’t. I don’t give a quockerwodger. But you know what, if you’re not going to siphon that girl from the wedding….”
“She has a name.”
“Who cares? All I know is, she wants it. And if you’re not going to do it, if you’re not going to fuck her….”
“Don’t say fuck.”
“…Then I will.”
“Really, Alex.” I stood up. “You’ll do no such thing.”
Alex waved me off with his hand.
“Look, you can’t keep doing this. In Hawaii you made it clear that you were totally fine with it so long as it didn’t hurt others. You can forget about me, but don’t forget about Gracie.”
Alex reeled into the dark and ugly place. “I told you not to mention her.”
“What if you get an STD…HIV…chlamydia…herpes? One in three adults have them. How many women have you slept with now?” I started to count them up on my fingers.
“My private life does not concern you or her and I don’t care about your rules.” Veins protruded from his neck and head. “You think you’re so morally and artistically superior to me in every way that you can hold me hostage. I’m not a child.”
He marched through the living room, swooped his wallet and keys from the kitchen counter, and slammed the front door behind him.
“I’m starting to think you are.” I said after he was gone.
He was probably on his way to a local bar. In a city of nine million people, I’d never be able to find him, and this time I didn’t care.
Cousin Joe gave it a moment, opened the door of his bedroom, peeked his head out, and when he saw the coast was clear he opened the door wider to reveal Natalia, the Russian supermodel, standing at his side.
“Wow,” he finally said.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m very embarrassed.”
Natalia just stared down at me. I wondered if she thought I was a dog with fleas.
“Don’t be. Sounds like my old man and me. I didn’t move all the way out to New York simply for the money.” Cousin Joe reached into his jacket pocket. “I came out here to escape my old man… and for the pretty girls.” He nudged his chin at Natalia. She didn’t change her emotionless expression. “But mostly to escape my old man. He was really heated up. I guess he’s not going to the show?” He retrieved four tickets from his coat pocket.
“No, I guess he’s not.”
“It’s a shame.” Joe handed me two tickets.
“I do not feel at all bad.” Natalia finally spoke up. Her voice was thick with Moscow. “I only go to Broadway shows with men, not boys.” I looked down at my tickets. REPUBLICAN BLUE was written across both of them with the date, seat assignment and time of that nights showing. “Wh
en you arrived I saw two boys. But I was mistaken. The only boy has left the building. He is like a boy with peephole into woman’s dressing room. Now I see before me two men.”
Natalia looked down at me (her eyes were piercing) and for the first time, she smiled. Her jaw was well defined and firm, which made her incredibly wide lips menacing. If I were Cousin Joe and God forbid, alone with Natalia in bed, I wouldn’t even begin to know what to do with her. She’d probably have me in a headlock, arm twisted behind my back, and crying out uncle. For half a moment I expected her to say, In Russia, we crush boys.
“Come, I see the show now.” She turned, flicked her hair, and headed for the door.
“Well,” Cousin Joe grinned. “Let’s not keep the Russians waiting.”
19
Cousin Joe gave me the choice of a taxi or a train. I chose the train. I said the best thing about being in New York City wasn’t looking up at the skyscrapers. It was the people watching. “On train, all people do is watch me instead of other people,” Natalia said with displeasure. We jumped on the L Train, rode it westbound to 14th Street, and then caught the 3 Train up to the 42nd Street and Broadway station. On both accounts Natalia found the cleanest seat possible and crossed her legs, looking very much like a sexual preying mantis. Her skirt hiked up to her thigh. I think she found pleasure in people staring at her legs, despite her earlier objections. I wondered if she ever ate anyone as part of her mating ritual.
Something was on Cousin Joe’s mind. “Joshua,” he finally found the courage to say. “We obviously heard everything that went on back there. I really am very sorry about what’s happened between you and Elise. She’s a wonderful girl. I’ve been very inconsiderate.”
“It’s been a rough couple of months.”
“Your wife left you?” Natalia said with her well-defined jaw and Soviet accent. I nodded my head. “For another man?” I nodded my head again. I figured everyone on the train was trying to listen in on the conversation. Everyone wanted to know what the gorgeous Russian supermodel had to say, and I could have cared less.
“I’ve come to find out that she’s not only having sex while I’m away. She’s a sexaholic.”
Natalia’s face twisted with confusion. “I do not understand, this sexaholic. What is sexaholic?”
I explained it to her.
“I thought only men who cheated on their wives claimed this.”
“Well, apparently women who cheat on their husbands do too,” Joe chimed in.
“Hush,” she told him in a sharp voice. “Be sensitive to your Cousin.” I would have hated to be around her when she was being insensitive. She turned back to me, looking very much like that sexual praying mantis. “You went to high school with your wife.”
“Yes.”
“You have only been with one woman, have you not? I know this.”
I gulped for air and nodded my head. It felt like everyone on the train was staring.
“And this other girl in the Broadway we see tonight.”
“Leah Bishop.”
“You desire her. Your thighs burn for her. I know this.”
“We were all in the same high school together.”
“You’re wife does not deserve you. You have pure heart. I know this. Do you love this girl, this Leah Bishop?”
“Love is such a strong word.”
“This is nonsense. You love this girl. You are saving your heart for her. You tell her this…. that you are saving your heart, that it is pure….” she dramatically leaned in, “and you will melt her.” How is it that the Russians championed romantic literature and failed to win the Cold War?
Someone began to clap.
“That’s right,” I heard another woman say. “Mm-mm, your serial cheating wife doesn’t deserve you. You go find that girl and win her heart.”
Someone else clapped, and then several joined in. Within seconds the entire car applauded with the extra ingredients of cheers and whistles thrown in. And then we arrived at the 42nd Street and Broadway station. That was the magic of New York.
20
Watching Leah up on stage was surreal. It wasn’t the first time that I’d seen her perform. I’d shared the stage with her countless times in high school. We acted out (and acted up) various plays together. Fiddler on the Roof, West Side Story, and Our Town were all on our teenage acting resume. We even did 12 Angry Jurors. Our senior year, the big bang finale to our adolescent jaunt with the spotlight, we preformed a spirited rendition of RENT. We had a lot of fun with that one. But whatever script we animated to life, Leah was clearly the star. We all knew she was going places. I never had acting in me, no matter how much I enjoyed it. But Leah, she demanded the attention of her audience, just not like this. This was an entirely different beast altogether.
The way she sang those agonizing high notes so effortlessly. It just didn’t seem possible that someone could hit those sweeping rhythms and glass-shattering notes. There was a tenseness lingering in every seat as we waited for the slightest mishap. But she never once missed a beat. I’d never witnessed anything so powerful as Bishop’s portrayal of First Lady Isla Elliot. When she stood alone in the Oval Office moments after her husband signed an executive order to invade the Middle-East singing the hit song Who Am I Now? I seriously think she ripped everyone’s heart right out of their chest. Even Cousin Joe, a wealthy republican Wall Street banker (he had Dick Cheney’s signed poster hung on his bathroom door and his and hers George and Laura Bush towels), was brought to tears. Natalia held my hand.
As the curtain closed, thus carrying us to intermission, I swear Leah ended her final seemingly effortless declaration of political agony by lowering her head and staring right at me. She looked into my eyes, no…. into my soul. The entire theater was in ecstasy. But Leah Bishop, the girl I kissed in high school, whom I pursued in college, the beautiful young Boston bridesmaid who had thrown up in my mouth only two weeks before, she reached into my eyes…. and even deeper still, into my soul. It was hers for the taking.
“You will get this girl, this beautiful enchanting girl. I know.” Natalia squeezed my hand. She was gushing with tears. “She has melted this audience’s heart, but soon you will give her your heart…and it will be her who will melt. She has known only boys. I feel this. But you are a true man. She will be putty in your hands.”
If there was ever a woman who knew how to grab the bull by the horns, I’ve met her. She was a Russian supermodel, and her name was Natalia.
21
REPUBLICAN BLUE was over. Curtain call. Its two-dozen cast members bowed their heads and soaked in the applause. Leah Bishop and her bastard of a Republican husband (I’m sure he was actually played by a very nice guy) were the last to arrive on stage, hand-in-hand. The entire house whistled and cheered for their arrival. Roses were thrown on stage. Many of us wept. And I swear to it, Leah looked right into my eyes again.
As we made our way back towards the 42nd Street station, Natalia was visibly cold, even in the muggy summertime. Anorexia will do that to you. She hugged her coat. Joe thought it might be best to hail a cab.
“No. We go train. I have feeling about it. Something will happen.”
As I look back on the events of that night and those that were still yet to come, I am awed and amazed at the candor of her premonitions. It was like she could see into the future, and she had no fear of it. Something certainly did happen on the train ride home, and now, reflecting back upon it, I realize she never said she had a good feeling about it, only a feeling. Understand that’s not how I defined it then. I wonder if she ever really feared anything.
As we waited for the 1, 2, or 3 train in a mostly desolate station, a cast member from the show appeared at my side, straddling the red do not cross line. He had dressed promptly in civilian clothes and probably hopped to remain unseen, but I recognized him as REPUBLICAN BLUE’s Secretary of State. Another cast member appeared. He too was dressed in civilian clothes, but he was considerably old, and I knew him to be the shadowy vice-presid
ent who dictated the presidents every move (and had a heart problem, coincidently like another vice-president we currently knew). And then another cast member, and still another. None spoke to each other. It reminded me of that scene in The Great Escape where James Garner and the runaway convicts stood on the Nazi train platform. I took notice of them without lifting my head. Natalia did too.
The train arrived, slid to a screeching halt, and presently opened its doors. We promptly entered with several cast members. And that’s when Natalia’s premonition happened.
Seconds before the doors closed Leah Bishop rushed through. I couldn’t believe it. Natalia saw her as quickly as I did, and it took several seconds for Joe to register. But there she was in our car standing only several feet in front of me, looking so much more adult, mature, professional, and entirely sexy than what had been revealed to me in Boston. I immediately wanted her personal and private attention. And I trembled.
“It is her – the girl,” Natalia said.
“Come on, buddy, this is your moment.” Cousin Joe said. “Go talk to her.”
I gasped for a breath of air. My flesh quivered. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Maybe I’d ask if she liked the Beatles. Then again, I thought I remembered her being more of a Pearl Jam and Nirvana sort of girl. I stood on my feet but my legs felt like Jell-O. The train jolted violently on its tracks and the lights flickered. I could barely stand. Joe pushed me in her direction. I almost tripped and fell right into her.
“No, wait,” I heard Natalia say. It was the final ingredient to her premonition, only this time it came a second or two ahead of its ultimate revelation.
As Leah stood in the center of the train, totally oblivious to my presence, a young man rose to his feet. I recognized him. He was the cast member who stood at my side straddling the red line. Mr. Secretary of State. Leah looked on him and smiled with a hint of intimacy. He lurched forward and kissed her. She didn’t fight him. It felt like an eternity watching her wrap both arms around his neck. Her legs went limp.
Wrong Flight Home (Wrong Flight Home, #1) Page 32