by Cj Paul
Also, please know you are always in my heart, and I miss you terribly.
Your friend, Gigi
At first I think it’s a joke, but Giselle is not cruel. Plus, there is a mound of legal paperwork attached to her letter. Worried and confused, I ask Alex if I can call him back later. He says, “Of course,” and, sensing something is awry, asks if there is anything he can do.
“No, I just need to go for now. Something’s up and I want to get to the bottom of it.”
“Fair enough. Let me know if I can help in any way.”
“Thanks, Alex. Hugs.”
I end the video call, and start pouring through the pile of legal paperwork. An hour later, I find myself sitting, staring out the window, too floored to think. Now, the conversation David was having with Giselle just before leaving for his trip starts to make sense.
“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.”
The thing he didn’t want to talk about is this court case, the reason he came back to America. And the person not related by blood is Giselle’s niece, or rather, step-niece. According to the court documents, David is accused of statutory rape with Giselle’s thirteen year-old niece – the age of consent in Italy being fourteen. I gasp at the mere thought.
Giselle mentioned in her letter that she was sure I was aware of David’s legal trouble. That couldn’t be further from the truth. David has never said a single word about it – not even about why he came back to the states. I can’t help but wonder what else he’s been keeping from me.
I lie down to think, secretly hoping to fall asleep so that I can’t think. I am a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts and emotions, and I can’t get my bearings. I don’t know what to believe or how to process any of the facts. I am not even sure what the facts really are! I don’t know about Italy, but here in the US, a man is innocent until proven guilty. So the least I can do is reserve judgment until I hear David’s side of things. I’m sure he has a perfectly logical explanation for the whole. God, I sure hope he does. But regardless of what actually happened, it does not look good that he fled the country.
Just then, my mind goes to Giselle. Poor Giselle! I can’t imagine what she’s gone through, finding out her long-time, live-in love was cheating on her, with her own niece no less – a niece who is young enough to be David and Giselle’s child! I shudder. And I cry.
I cry for Giselle. I cry for the thirteen year-old niece. I cry for her parents. I cry for David. And I cry for myself. Yet, after all those tears, I’m still no closer to having any answers – which makes me cry all the more.
* * *
David is due back around eight tonight. But after the conference, I’m expecting him to want to relax with his team for a bit, and most likely to arrive closer to 11pm. I’m a mass of nerves and very grateful that Alex is holding my virtual hand via videochat while I wait. I haven’t told him what’s going on, and he is far too chivalrous to ask. But he knows something is wrong, and is happy to just ‘be here’ for me. And boy oh boy, do I appreciate it.
We chitchat about everything under the sun while I pace the floor awaiting David’s arrival. At 11 o’clock, I call David to get his ETA. The call goes to voicemail. I try a few more times, unsuccessfully, over the next two hours, then give up to go to bed. Alex has been a dear, and has stuck with me the entire time – never complaining that it’s taking too long or that he needs to tend to his own affairs.
At eight the next morning, I hear David’s car come up the drive. Grabbing only his valise, he heads for the door, meandering and whistling like he hasn’t a care in the world. This is not the way I envisioned his triumphant return home. Just a few days back, I lay in bed fantasizing about the moment he’d walk through the door. I pictured me in a skimpy negligee, dozens of candles glowing, and Luther Vandross playing to set the scene. But here I am, in the stark of morning, in Bugs slippers, men’s boxers and a tank top. And he’s in a tailored suit, albeit one that looks like he’s still wearing it from the night before.
I decide to take the high road and hug him immediately, with a warm, soulful, ‘I would never judge you’ sort of hug. He opens the door, and before he can say a word, I wrap my arms around him. He folds me into his embrace and heaves a heavy sigh that sounds like relief. I breathe in his heavenly David scent, only to find the mingled aromas of stale alcohol, marijuana and various perfumes. I look up into his face, searching for answers. As he smiles down at me, I notice peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt, where his neck meets the shoulder, a deep red hickey. Now I’m the one who sighs, but it’s from a feeling much different than that of relief.
I pull him by the hand to the couch to get him seated before telling him about the delivery from Giselle. I ask if I can get him anything to eat or drink.
“Just you,” he says rapaciously, growling and pulling me onto his lap, as he begins to ravish my neck with kisses.
“David, a package came for you.”
“Oh? Was it lacey underwear and a room key?” he asks playfully. But, in light of the hickey and ‘professional party girls,’ the joke is lost on me.
“No, actually it was from Giselle,” I say, not looking him in the eye, and trying to maintain my cool.
After a long pause he gets up. “On second thought, I’ll have a beer.” He goes to the fridge and cracks a Peroni. I walk over to him and hold out the FedEx packet. He declines to take it, so I place it on the breakfast bar between us.
“Any idea what you’re going to do about it, hon?” I ask, trying to sound supportive and not accusative.
“So you’ve been reading my mail when I was gone, huh?” he finally asks.
“No, David, never. It wasn’t like that. She addressed it to me.”
He takes a long draught of the beer. “Just as well. It’s a bitch trying to keep secrets anyway.” And he takes another swig.
“David...you know I...” but before I can finish he cuts me off.
“Claire, I just came home to give you the good news. I found out last night the houseboat is finally finished! I’ll be moving in today. I knew you’d be excited, so I wanted to tell you in person.” He looks at his watch. “Yikes, I’m late to go meet the contractor for the final inspection. I’ll call you later to set up a time to come check it out, k?”
I sit stupefied and slack-jawed, without a clue as to how to respond. He finishes his beer, gives my cheek a peck, my arm a squeeze, and heads for the door.
Like a scene out of a melodrama, he opens the door and turns back to speak.
“For the record, I thought she was sixteen.”
Then, without a single word of explanation in his own defense, he flashes his signature make-you-melt smile, winks, whispers, “Ciao, Bella,” and walks out.
Chapter Forty-ThreeI have endured my fair share of dumb blonde jokes over the years, and generally gotten a kick out of them. Even when ignoramuses at a bar tried to level me with such low grade blasts in my youth, I was tickled by the humor, and heartened by the fact that my IQ is most likely sixty points higher than theirs. Still, despite having what most consider a keen intellect, I am incurably gullible and often frightfully slow on the uptake.
An average girl with average smarts would have figured out very quickly that David was gone and that he was not intending to come back. Me? It took weeks to clue in. April would’ve caught on right away and shaken me till I wised up. But best friend, voice-of-wisdom April has a life of her own, on the other side of the world now. She and her clan have been shipped off to China for two years for her husband’s work. And while we say we will Skype every week, we never do. I don’t know the last time I talked to her. Now that Mom is gone – and Danielle too, come to think of it – I really miss having a close female confidante.
Under my female-friendless circumstances, I have been all the more grateful to be back in touch with Alex. Throughout the entire Dav
id debacle, Alex has been a rock. I didn’t tell him right away that David had gone, but I got the feeling he knew something was up, and was just too tactful to say anything. I am appreciating his friendship right now immensely.
I never hear from David. He phoned on a Monday night while I was at my ballet board meeting, when he knew I’d be gone, and left a message saying he was coming by to pick up his stuff and would have me over to the new place as soon as he ‘decorated’ it. He said he wants to do it himself and have it be a surprise. Whenever I call him, he’s always very friendly, but in a rush to get off the phone. He tells me that he’s swamped at work and the place is nearly done, and his dog Matilda is on her way, so he needs to be there to get things ready for her and blah blah blah.
It’s got to be the worst breakup ever because I didn’t even know we were broken up!
Eventually, I tell Alex the nitty-gritty story of what’s been going on with David, because now it has started to affect me, legally. I’m bombarded with threatening letters, phone calls from federal agencies and visits from sheriffs, all looking for David, and none of whom believe that I don’t know his whereabouts. The truth is, I have never been to the houseboat, and begin to wonder if there ever was one.
Alex has been an absolute saint, putting up with my bouts of panic and outrage. Never does he lose his grace or patience or delightfully sideways humor. I feel awful that we never, ever talk about him. It’s always ‘me, me, me’ and I feel guilty, but at the same time grateful, to have such a strong, selfless friend for support.
* * *
Thanksgiving is only three days away and I’m jumping for joy. It’s my favorite day of the year. Not because of the food or ball games, but because I absolutely love the idea that an entire nation takes a day just to be grateful. At least, that’s what I do. This will be the first major holiday I’ve spent on my own with no family, no friends, no lover to share the day. The highlight is the fact that April and I have arranged to Skype ‘for sure’ on Thanksgiving day. In China, there’s not a whole lot for an American to do in the way of celebrating Thanksgiving, and we’ll have plenty of free time to shoot the breeze and talk about all the things best girlfriends do, which of course centers around boys. Though, at this stage of life, one would hope I would have moved onto men.
Just for fun, I decide to make the whole Thanksgiving feast for myself. I don’t know when I’ll get these treasured dishes again. The spread consists of a small turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed corn, Mom’s famous Pacifica Jello salad, homemade cranberry sauce and more. I make a bold decision to forgo the yams in favor of pumpkin praline pie, and I add a can of black olives to nosh from my fingertips, and King’s Hawaiian rolls, because I can – yum! Even if I didn’t love the meal in itself, the effort would be worth it for the leftovers, especially the day-after turkey sandwiches, and, of course, pie for breakfast.
Foolishly, I wait till Thanksgiving eve to do all of my grocery shopping. The store is a zoo and nearly out of everything I need. Even so, I am having a splendid time being part of humanity, as it bustles through needless frenzy. I always let rushed people go before me at the checkout line during the holidays. It’s my gift to them – the gift of my time, a touch of grace, a wee bit o’ kindness. I determined long ago not to fall into the trap of holidaze stress. And so, I look at the season as an opportunity to take my time and go more slowly, to stop and smell the poinsettias, or at least the Christmas trees.
Alex is on vidcam as I labor over my Thanksgiving array, and is highly entertained by my ineptitude in the kitchen.
“Yeh, well, the menagerie never complains about it,” I quip.
“Not that you know of! They speak in strange and mystical languages. You probably have no idea what they’re saying about you behind your back.”
I quickly rally Persephone to my side by letting her lick spoons and bowls, all to show Alex how irresistible my culinary creations are. I just hope my pup doesn’t throw it all up later!
The next day, on Thanksgiving proper, the menagerie and I dine by candlelight at 3pm sharp. Earlier, Alex had called to wish me well, prior to his racing out to spend the long weekend with scores of relatives spanning four generations. His is a boisterous affair with a strict ‘no electronics allowed’ policy. No one may so much as touch a computer or cell phone, even the teens.
I, on the other hand, will be on the computer as much as possible today, enjoying my Skypefest with April, which is scheduled at 5pm. Afterward, I intend to go see whatever grand, period-piece film opens today.
The entire supper comes out perfectly. The one time that it really doesn’t matter since I’m not cooking for anyone, and the whole meal is flawless. Figures. There is more food than six people can eat, and it would be nice to share some of it with someone, anyone.
I suddenly wonder where, and with whom, David is having Thanksgiving. I wonder, too, if he’s even still in America, or if he returned to Italy to face the music. My yellow chakra nags at me to admit my doubts about David ‘manning up’ and going back to Italy. But once again, I determine to believe the best, until the facts prove otherwise.
5 o’clock finally comes and I hit the send button on Skype call to April. When we connect and can see one another from opposite corners of the world, we both start squealing in delight, causing her youngest child to burst out in tears.
The conversation is the best holiday gift I could ever ask for. We talk about everything and everyone under the sun, with no time constraints, no interruptions and no worries. When we get to the topic of David, April listens dutifully, waiting till I’ve related the whole soap opera. April doesn’t mince words, so I know her assessment and response will be concise and unvarnished. After a pause, she speaks her piece.
“Basically, your life is Gone with the Wind. David is Ashley, Alex is Rhett, Giselle is Melanie and you are Scarlett.”
“Wow, I’m Scarlett O’Hara?”
“But not as pretty.”
We both laugh, and I consider what she’s said.
“Ya know what, A, I think you’re absolutely right.”
“I know I’m right!”
All too soon we lose the call, and though I try re-connecting a few times, there is no answer. She’s mentioned having internet issues before, and I’m just grateful we got to talk as long as we did. I dash out to the cinema, nearly late, even after taking into account the length of the previews.
Later, on the way back from the movies, I think more about what she said. Her words may be few, but they are always fraught with meaning and import. All the more so now, as I speak them aloud with an imperious, uppercrust English accent, waxing quite British after the magnificent film. Meryl will surely get another Oscar nomination for her stellar performance.
Once back at home, I sneak seconds of the entire Thanksgiving meal. There is no one to sneak or hide from as there was in my youth, under my parents’ roof, but it seems to taste better when I think of relishing these treats on the sly. I turn on my computer to see what sorts of holiday messages my Facebook friends have posted. As the machine awakes, I take the opportunity to spoon out a little more mashed potatoes to use as reinforcements around the pool of gravy I’ve created. God forbid it should leak into the Jello!
The site is full of missives about family gatherings. I sigh to see how many people are either completely stressed out by holiday preparations, or are just flat out dreading the prospect of spending time with their families. Then, there are the ones who are depressed and feel hopeless because they are alone with no one to share the holiday. I realize I’m one of them – at least the alone part. My heart goes out to all who are battling with one form or another of holiday blues or burnout. I ramble through the deluge of turkey cartoons, tryptophan jokes, and ‘tomorrow I start my diet’ protestations. I then come to a post from Alex, left early in the day. It’s an unexpected treat, since he previously said he would most likely not be online the next few days.
As I lay my head down at the end of a full and fi
lling day, serenaded by purrs and snores, I count the day’s blessings. The menagerie, April and Alex all top the list.
* * *
The next day is Black Friday, the day dedicated to shopping carnage. I decide it’s the perfect time treat myself to a visit to the city to see the holiday decorations. Clearly, too much feasting has addled my brain. Trying to find parking on the mother-of-all shopping days takes me longer than the drive into the city! I finally find a spot several blocks from the stores, and that is just fine by me. It’s a gorgeous autumn day and the walk in the crisp, clear air delights my soul as much as it helps rekindle my appetite after yesterday’s gorging. As I stroll, I feel a warmth in my belly – one that has nothing to do with holiday overindulgence. Thoughts of Alex fill my head and the heat in my core begins to radiate throughout the rest of me, finally taking root deep in my chest.
Suddenly I stop in my tracks, completely overcome with emotion. I choke back an unexpected spate of tears, and laugh aloud as I feel the energy coursing through my being. It is a familiar feeling, but on a level and to a degree I’ve never known. And I realize, beyond a question or doubt, that I am unalterably in love with Alex. Why I didn’t realize it sooner is a mystery. Then again, maybe not. This feeling is something so much purer, so much more beautiful, satisfying, powerful, grounded and real than any romantic inklings I’ve entertained – and certainly more than any emotion I’ve read about or seen in romantic movies. This is the summum bonum. This is the kind of love that gives and blesses without thought for self, without ego, without expectation or possession. This is love as it should be – as it truly is.