by Cj Paul
Dinner is everything I would have pictured in my perfect fantasy. In a matter of moments, David has the entire staff wrapped around his finger, and the maitre d’ looks even more shocked than I could have wished. The sommelier is Italian and spends half the evening jabbering with David in Mamma’s tongue. But I don’t mind. I love seeing David in action, and I’m happy to keep company with my other sweetheart – the gourmet viands for which Masa is world-renowned.
Through the course of our convivial conversation, I’ve all but forgotten the reason why we’re here. David has something to say. I think I know what it is, but dare not go there. During dessert he broaches the subject.
“Cece, you know there is something I want to tell you. I’m not really sure how to say this. And I’m not quite sure how you’ll take it. But...I...”
“I already guessed it, David. You’re going back to Italy, aren’t you?”
It’s a good five minutes before David can speak again, after laughing so hard and fast that the wine he was sipping has come out his nose. The wait staff are huddled around, and the sommelier is slapping him hard on the back, all the while reciting the Rosary to him in Italian, or maybe Latin. Either way, David has the place in an uproar, and as a goodwill gesture, he orders a cheese course for everyone there.
When things calm down, he resumes regular conversation, and I have to remind him of the topic on the table. The thought makes him laugh and he nearly chokes, again. He takes a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure, and falls silent for an agonizingly long moment. He looks warmly into my eyes and says, “Claire...”
“David,” I respond, mocking his hesitation.
“Cece, I just wanted to tell you I love you.”
“Aww, D, you know I love you too.”
“No, I mean...I love you.”
I feel like I’ve just been run over by an 18-wheeler – one hauling champagne, chocolates and flowers. Oh, how many times I dreamt of hearing those words. But never could I have envisioned it happening in a more beautiful way or perfect setting.
Eventually, I manage to find the power of speech and softly tell him, “And I mean, I love you, too.”
“Do you know I’ve never said that to a woman before?”
“What? Not even to Giselle?”
“Nope,” he says, beaming and grinning from ear to ear.
Suddenly, I feel a slight melancholy, more of an empathy really, for Giselle. I feel it for David too, for his never having had the joy of sharing that feeling with a woman before. The thought that I am the first is like a charge of adrenaline for me, and I instantly feel like a goddess.
He orders a bottle of Veuve Clicquot for us to share with the petit fours and chocolates that end the eight-course meal. While the sommelier pops the cork, David takes the red rose from the centerpiece and hands it to me. Champagne, chocolates and now a flower. Yep, absolutely perfect.
On the drive home, I ask to travel with the top down. Our stint in public is over, and I want to look at the stars and feel the warmth of the heater on my toes while we cruise over the Golden Gate bridge into Marin. As classic Sade pours from the M6’s Bose sound system, I become entranced by the perfection of the evening.
When we arrive home, David insists on opening my car door. Walking toward the house, I shiver in the chill of the crisp air, after exiting the heated vehicle. Once inside, things become warm immediately as David and I all but rip off each other’s clothing. Frankly, we do try to rip some items off. But, either we are too weak, or they are too well made, and we fail miserably, giggling all the while.
This is another dream, connecting with David this way, a way I know he loves and I want. For a brief moment, I recall my discussions with Alex about reserving sex for marriage, with an intimate partner who is committed to me in sacred and meaningful ways. That idea flies right out the window in the heat of passion with this man I’ve wanted for so long. I make up my mind to give myself to David once my period has run its course. David is not exactly the marrying kind, but at least I know he loves me.
Our wanton mauling blissfully winds its way to my bedroom, and the foreplay is every bit as magnificent as I expected. The thought of David’s many past conquests arrests me for a moment, but my orange chakra peeks her head out to remind me that I am the one he comes home to at night – well, that is, when he comes home at night.
After a lavish ravaging, he says, “God Claire. You have no idea how much I want you.”
“No,” I reply weakly.
And he sits upright, clearly shaken. “How could I be so stupid? Of course you’d say no. This is exactly what we were doing when...when..”
I know instantly what he means. We were at the same point of passion right when we got the call about Mom’s passing.
“No, this has nothing to do with Mom.”
He pulls his knees into his chest and is visibly upset.
“David, look at me.” He finally does. “It’s cuz I’m on my period. That’s all.” And I kiss his nose to punctuate the statement.
An awkward moment begins to drag out.
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t spoil you,” I offer, leaning over to kiss his belly and lightly caress his thigh.
“That’s ok, Cece. Another time. When we can both do everything, together. Tonight let’s just...” And he pulls me into a close spooning position.
I recall the last time I was like this in my bed. It was when Nimo broke in. At the time, I thought for a groggy moment that the man pressed behind me was Alex. I dared not dream it would be David. I fall asleep in utter contentment, in the arms of a man I love – a man who loves me too.
Chapter Forty-OneThe day after our night at Masa’s, I awake with David’s arms around me, in the same position in which we’d fallen asleep. I creep into the restroom as he slumbers, and when I return, I find him already out of bed. I go into the kitchen to start the coffee, and can hear him arguing on the phone from the garden.
“For the last time, Giselle, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not coming back and that’s it...I don’t care about that...Well then let them...It’s not like you’re related by blood anyway.”
I head back to the bedroom, not wanting to invade his privacy, not wanting to hear more, and not wanting my imagination to have just enough fodder to conjure horrible scenarios.
A few minutes later, he comes back in, anxious and wound up.
“Well, that was a disaster,” he says.
“What happened?”
“I was expecting a call from Seth in the San Jose office, about the meeting. So when my phone rang, I picked it up without looking. Turns out it was Giselle,” he says.
“Oh. Everything all right?”
“As far as I’m concerned it is. I told her I didn’t want to talk and cut the conversation short. Ugh, she just won’t let it go.”
I was dying to ask what it was that she wouldn’t let go, but thought better of it.
“I better get ready to leave. Love you, Cece,” he says chipperly, and heads to his room to shower and dress.
Somehow, because of our beautiful night together, I’ve conveniently forgotten that he is hosting a big meeting in San Jose – more like a series of conferences, really – over the course of ten days. Funny I’d forget about it, considering I helped him plan it! Weeks ago, I arranged the accommodations, the golf tournament, all the food and beverage, most of the entertainment, and even the welcome baskets and goodie bags.
The menagerie and I stand in a little row by the front door, all waiting our turn to say adieu. I can’t hide the fact that I am pouting.
“Don’t be so glum, Cece. I’ll be back before you know it,” and he kisses me on the forehead. “I’m really glad we got to talk last night. I didn’t want to wait till I got back to tell you...to tell you I love you.” And then he plants a luscious kiss on my mouth – a kiss with a capital K!
The first hour or so that he’s gone is miserable. I don’t know what to do with myself, and basically just shuffle from room t
o room in my Bugs slippers, being wholly unproductive. At one point, I realize I’m getting nowhere and decide to do some work. I log onto Facebook, just to wander around, to find out what’s new and to see if there are any pretty pictures to ogle.
There is a status update from Alex. I haven’t looked at his page in ages, and could use a good pick-me-up. He always posts such positive, lovebug stuff – aside from the totally askew humor posts, which are equally delightful.
Going back to his page is like going back to a neighborhood where you used to live. It’s so comfortable that you feel like you’re a piece of a puzzle who fits in just perfectly. The first thing I see is his most recent post. It’s an exquisite red rose coupled with a quote by Rumi. My, but I’ve missed this man.
Scrolling down his wall, one thing, then another makes me smile.
Hee hee that was too cute.
This man is too much: always loving, always cheerful, always willing to look at the good in life and to bring it out in others. He’s so different from any other man I’ve known. And I actually feel like a better person for knowing him. Overcome with goodwill after reading his posts, I boldly venture to the private message button and make contact for the first time since receiving his beautiful condolence message.
10:34am
Claire Nichole Eden
Sweetest greetings, dear one. Words can’t express the depth of my gratitude for your loving kindness. I read your message about my mom’s passing at least a dozen times. And each time, cried tears of gratitude, not just for having had my mother, but for having had your love. You are the most extraordinary human being I’ve ever known and I am infinitely blessed by every moment we come in contact. I hope things are going well with you and yours. And even if they’re not, I have no doubt you will find the silver lining and make it all shine! Hugs, C.
Just then my phone rings. My first thought is that I don’t want to be pulled away from chatting with Alex. Then I realize, I’m not actually chatting with him. I merely left him a message. I answer the phone absent-mindedly, still perusing his Facebook wall.
“Hello, Sugar,” Alex says kindly.
Okay, so now I’m actually chatting with him.
* * *
Alex and I gab, giggle and guffaw the entire day, draining our cell phone batteries several times over. We make and eat meals while on the phone together. I tend to the menagerie, and Alex takes out the trash while we’re on the phone. Basically, it’s been all Alex, all phone, all the time. I don’t remember the last time I felt so jubilant and kid-like. It’s as if some sort of invisible yet heavy pall has been lifted. And it’s fun to smile so much. Getting off the phone at day’s end proves problematic, and we do one of those ‘You hang up first...No, you hang up first’ things which is rather cute in its gagginess.
Less than a minute later, the phone rings again.
“Good grief. Show some self-restraint,” I bark, teasingly.
“Cece? Hey you. How was your day?”
“David... Hi... I can hardly hear you.”
“Come back in the jacuzzi, David,” a sultry voice coos from the background.
“Jacuzzi, huh,” I say, feigning cheerfulness, and trying not to be needlessly jealous.
“Has anyone seen my bathing suit?” another flirts.
“I heard that,” I blurt out, frowning.
“Haha, don’t be bugged Cece. These girls are professionals.”
“You mean they work in the office there?” Doesn’t sound so professional to me.
“HAHAHAHHAHAHAA Noooooooooo. I mean they are professional party girls.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I ask, incredulously.
“We’re having a business mixer. There’s like seventy people. This place is crazy!”
“Yeh, I can tell!” My red chakra begins to rumble – and not in a good way.
“C’mon Davey. You promised me a shoulder rub,” Party girl number three whines.
“Hold on. No, that was Joe. Hey Joe, can you take care of Miss... What’s your name, dear?”
“Amber,” bimbo number one replies.
“Ha, of course it is. Joe, can you give Amber here a shoulder rub? Gotta run Cece. I miss you!”
“I miss you too,” I shout.
“What’s that?” he shouts back.
“Don’t forget the champagne, Davey.”
“Hey, grab some more champagne, will ya, Randy? I’ll call you tomorrow Cece, love you!”
“What did you say, D?”
“That’s nice. Good for you, Cece.”
“Huh?”
“Hold on girls, one at a time. You’ll all get your turn.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” I yell into the microphone.
“Aww, me neither, babe. You gotta be kidding me. Really, Stan? In the jacuzzi? Ciao, bella.” I hear him saying just as he hits the off button.
I have a hard time falling asleep after David’s call. I never judged him for his lifestyle, but that was before we lived together, and slept together – even if it has only been actual sleep. Still, how do you tell a woman you love her, and then play pattycake in the jacuzzi with a bunch of ‘professional’ girls? I get the feeling it will take me a lifetime to understand David. And if I ever do understand him, will I be able to live with what I learn?
The next morning, I see something online that cracks me up and makes me think of Alex immediately. I call to tell him about it, too lazy to try to explain it in a typed message. The quick call I’d intended turns into another full day phone marathon. I keep my cell charged, looking forward to speaking to David again, and to ribbing him about the professional jacuzzi girls. I’m disappointed when I don’t hear from him, but don’t want to disrupt his ‘business,’ so I resist the temptation to call. Finally, just before turning in for the night, I ring him. It goes to voicemail immediately. I don’t leave a message.
Falling asleep, I can’t help but note the irony of my situation. A few months back, I was in the tenuous position of loving two men at once, both in different ways – Alex as a long-distance lover and potential mate, David as a roommate and...well, I don’t know what the ‘and’ would be, but it would be something substantial. Now I’m in the same position, but sort of reversed. Both of these men are still in my life. But now it is David who is my intended lover, and Alex who’s my buddy.
I have taken to stalking Alex’s Facebook wall again. Frankly, it just makes me feel good – not just because I enjoy things that he posts, but because the content is always so inspiring and uplifting. It’s like breathing pure oxygen, or so I assume, never having inhaled it in its 100% pure state. I randomly click on a spot on his Timeline, and come across a poem. At the time he posted it, no one knew he wrote it for me – no one except me, that is.
Ask
If you'd but ask I'd stop the world
Trip stealthy time in his nimble gait
I'd seize the moon in her midnight haunts
Rein Phoebus' steeds in 'til they bow.
If you'd but ask I'd still the tides
And every wave that stirs the sand
I'd raise one hand, command the wind
To stand like ghost-stone frozen fast.
If you'd but ask, I'd halt the spin
That twirls the dizzy earth about
Quench platinum countless fiery stars
Make life itself retreat from birth.
If you'd but ask I'd silence song
With one keen glance make Mona frown
Make Redwood forests bend and break
'Til splintered they defile the ground.
But you'd not wish such things from me
And all I might risk comes to naught
I'd settle calm within your palm
Smile dwelling there forever more
For you, write endless passion's psalms
'Til every muse retiring, fawns
If you'd but ask.
AVA
Tears trickle down my cheeks, and in my watery stupor, I
pat myself on the back for buying that Kleenex stock.
Chapter Forty-TwoIt feels like forever since David’s been gone. His calls have been less and less frequent, and though it saddens me, I dare not jump to any conclusion. I’ve worked hard to stop being an ‘ass-u-me’ type, and even if there is something off-kilter going on, I am not going to let my imagination run roughshod over me. I’ll wait and let the bold-faced facts do that instead.
I have been filling David’s absence by spending more time with the menagerie. Ever since David and Mom moved in, I have been with them less and less – mostly because they preferred their new, exciting housemates to their boring old mother, me. I’ve also been doing a whole lot of domestic detailing – making the place sparkle and shine and smell good for David’s return, with full intention of seducing him the minute he walks through the door.
Alex has been a doll, keeping me company via videochat the last several days. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to chat by video instead of phone sooner. He says it did occur to him, but he didn’t want to push the issue.
The day before David is to come home, I receive a FedEx package. I never get deliveries at the house, since I use a post office box for all of my show and fan-related mail. My knee-jerk reaction is to fear that the packet is something unwelcome from Nimo, given that he is one of the people who has my home address. But I realize that is unfair and, most likely, unfounded. As I sign for the parcel, the worry crosses my mind that it might be a goodbye letter from David. Again, I dismiss it as silly.
Once inside, I open it to find it’s from Giselle – David’s Giselle.
I double-check the recipient name. Yes, it’s addressed to me, not David. Tentatively, I open it.
Dear Claire,
I’m sorry we’ve fallen out of touch and regret that our renewed contact comes in this form. As I’m sure you’re well aware, David has run into some legal trouble. It has only escalated since he fled, and the charges have become more serious. I beg you to please convince him to come back to Italy and stand trial. Extradition proceedings have already begun. I would be very grateful if you could see to it he gets these papers. I’ve tried sending them to him on more than one occasion, but he has refused delivery each time. They are important and require his immediate action.