Sometimes Love

by Victoria Kennedy

  “You’ve made a rash decision. So did I. I thought it would be better for you to leave New York than to stick around while I sorted out my problems. I thought it wouldn’t have been fair to you. But the decision I made was wrong. When people are in a relationship together, they are supposed to stay and work the problems out…together. I didn’t have any experience with how to conduct myself in that situation. I want to be a family man and I want my family to be with you. We could get Pia and.....”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get it right, okay? I’d waited a long time for someone like you to come along. But it’s too late for this now. Other people are involved. I took that one big hurt and went on. I want you to do the same.”

  He drained his bottle in one last long pull, then ordered a Hennessey and Coke. He looked down into his glass in a preoccupied stare, almost like I was no longer in the room. I was hoping he got my message and I’d somehow gotten through to him, but all I could see was a man lost in thought. I didn’t want to know what thoughts.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I muttered and slid down off the s tool, gathering my bag and keys. As soon as my feet touched the floor, he stood up beside me between the stools so closely that my breasts were pressed against him and I had nowhere to move.

  “Please,” he said. “Don’t do this to us. Zoë, I love you. I know we could work this out. I still want to marry you.”

  I felt his plea deep in my heart and it was resurrecting something I wanted to stay dead. I didn’t want to awaken those feelings in me that had thrived when I operated on blind faith. I was working with a level head, using common sense and planning a glorious future in a great family with a doting man who was easily on every most eligible bachelor list in the mid-Atlantic. But Humphrey’s plea was calling to a part of me that wanted me to throw it all away, take him by the hand, and run wild through all the silliest dreams I’d ever dreamed, and to be able to look him in the eye and have him tell me it was okay to be silly and to dream. “Please don’t do this to me. I’ve already gone through the grieving process of losing you once. I can’t just reverse that and pretend my heart wasn’t affected by it, that it doesn’t bear the scars of being broken. I stayed at a hotel out by the airport for a week wondering if you were going to call me and say you made a mistake or that you changed your mind. I hoped it would all turn out to be a bad dream.”

  “I did try to call you, over and over again. It was just as well you didn’t take my calls. I didn’t want to discuss our problems over the phone, but you didn’t want me here. Think about this. Don’t do like I did and make an impetuous decision. Be sure.”

  The tears in his eyes almost moved me to tears. But the minute he flung accusations at me of not really loving Michael and of being with him out of revenge, I knew our conversation had to end. I was confused and I didn’t want to think about anything anymore. I wasn’t going to second-guess myself and I didn’t want to discuss the matter. All I wanted was the easy life I envisioned for Michael and myself with our successful business and shuttling our future kids between private schools and ballet lessons or football, living in one of the old money enclaves tucked away in the city…a good life.

  “I am sure, Humphrey. Go home. Go back to New York, please.”

  “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. That’s fear talking, but you shouldn’t be afraid of your feelings. You should embrace them.”

  “Stop talking like a madman and stop trying to put emotions where they don’t belong.”

  He pushed past me, out of the close space we’d been occupying. “Why don’t you stop trying to convince yourself that you’re happy?” His voice was raised to the next decibel now. “It’s not in you to live this buttoned-down life you’re imagining… never will be. Stop stringing that man along and let him find the right woman for himself. That person is not you. You belong with me. You need to accept that. I’ve accepted that I belong with you.” “Folks, you’re disturbing our other guests.” The bartender addressed us both but his eyes were directed at Humphrey. “Please keep it down.”

  I fought the impulse to cry as I watched him walk across the lobby toward the elevators. I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard. He insisted he still loved me and that, deep down, I loved him. If this was love, it was the most complicated thing I could ever have imagined.

  I sat in the bar longer than the thirty-fi e minutes I’d allotted myself. I was on my third glass of wine, when I realized I no longer had a reason to be there. There was a sense of loss that I didn’t know how to process. Humphrey had done what I asked him to. He’d left me alone. So why did I feel so empty and unsatisfied? Why did I feel like something was undone...like something was left still wanting?

  When I got outside, I welcomed the cool breeze on my face, but not on my perfectly styled hair. As I passed a store window, I caught a glimpse of myself that looked like someone else. I had wrapped the Hermès scarf, a gift from Michael, around my hair and tied it under my chin, put on my sunglasses and pulled my belted shirtwaist dress tighter, taking on the persona of a brown Lucille Ball. Michael liked that look on me. It allowed me to be expressive and creative while appearing cultured and poised.

  When I stopped at the office, Michael was depositing papers in his briefcase, obviously preparing to leave out. “FBI work or campaign work,” I inquired.

  “Campaign work, Babe. Another debate is coming up and I need to help dad prepare.”

  He was wearing a navy blue suit with a tie in a jewel toned abstract print and a confident stride. He was really starting to get into the role of the politician’s son, meeting his father’s demands, carrying out his directives and using his gift of organization to map out a campaign that was competitive and effective. He was looking the part a lot more lately and it seemed he wanted me to fall in line too. His wardrobe was suddenly more conservative with blazers and ties, even on weekends unless they were golfing. Yes, Michael had even taken up golfing. When I saw my reflection in that window, it frightened me and made me wonder if I would be able to play my part.

  For the remainder of that day, I felt disconnected from myself and kept trying to analyze the void my departure from Humphrey had created in me, without involving my emotions. It was an impossible feat. From the beginning, he had shown me everything passionate about myself and he didn’t let me deny that part or repress it. There had always been a fire in me that I didn’t allow to burn freely, that I always wanted to contain. He showed me how to embrace the whole thing whether it contained parts that were good or bad, beautiful or ugly. Everything about my involvement with Humphrey entailed emotion. Every sincere moment had brought tears to my eyes. That’s the reason why it was so hard for me to be logical about him. No other person or experience in my life had ever summoned such passion and enthusiasm for anything.

  Everything benefited from the lessons he’d taught me: my parents, my siblings, my clients, Michael, even Humphrey and myself. Hadn’t I been the grown woman with no confidence, who had never experienced true love and never been made love to? I was that person who had never traveled outside of my comfort zone, never done anything daring or risqué. Before Humphrey, my whole life was in Baltimore. I didn’t leave for college, despite scholarships from across the country. I would’ve never thought to move away from my family or to take on clients in a city like New York. I’d since grown into my own woman who didn’t need approval from anyone before I made a decision and who exercised her right to say no, when I felt so inclined. Before, I was just the little sister who needed protection and shelter; the partner and friend who needed support and a shoulder to cry on; the daughter who was still finding herself.

  Humphrey wasn’t completely responsible for the transformation but he deserved the credit for planting the seed of possibility in my heart. He convinced me that I could just be the real me. What Michael had done for me in my youth, Humphrey had done for me as a woman. And what Humphrey had done was to help me grow beyond my youthful mindset and to grasp all of those things that made me a woman. All of t
hose things had been there all along. They were just waiting for me to put them to use. I would be eternally grateful to him for that which could never be repaid.

  I realized my life was in a quandary and frankly, I could see no way out. I made a choice that was unwise. I chose not to do anything about it.

  The day arrived for my love celebration with Michael. The private room we reserved was swathed in white, from the bouquets on the round mahogany tables, to the clothing of our guests. It was a fitting contrast to the dark paneled room.

  It was elegant and just a little predictable. Michael had no idea what he was in for. I don’t know how his father convinced him to wear white but since it was in a maritime museum, he probably assumed it was nautical. I was waiting just inside the door, when they arrived. There was no need to yell “Surprise.”

  When the recognition lit up his eyes, it was priceless. Th man who always handled everything for me had been handled. He grasped my outstretched hands.

  “What exactly have you done, Zoë?”

  “I’ll let you take a look around then tell me what you think it is.”

  He was so handsome in winter white. I watched as his eyes scanned the room, landing on our pictures and family. When he turned back to me, the emotion was plain. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me soundly.

  “You blow me away, lady. You know that?” “I guess that makes us even.”

  When Mr. Wes yelled for us to “Get a room,” laughter rang out from the guests witnessing our interaction.

  “Don’t think about leaving my side tonight,” Michael said under his breath.

  “I didn’t pull this together to go it alone.”

  Angie shoved glasses of wine in our hands, before we could make it across the floor. The love celebration that I painstakingly planned was a winner. It made the society page of the Baltimore Sun, having segued from one of the stories covering Wes Franklin’s campaign. I guess anything concerning a Franklin would have made the newspaper.

  They wrote about Michael and me as if we were on our way to the altar. Our pictures could have been featured in ads for the latest Macy’s sales paper or on a Zales billboard downtown. We looked happy. Every shot showed us hand in hand or engaging in conversation with guests, never losing our happy smiles or looks of longing. Everyone thought we made the perfect couple and wagers were being placed on how soon we would be wed. If Michael and I had nothing else, we had the look down pat: the constant body contact, the sincere gazes into each other’s eyes, the chaste, deliberate kisses, the private jokes. If looks could project the heart’s intentions and the eyes were indeed the windows to the soul, then our hearts and our souls were putting on a show all night. We had the look of love.

  “That’s it,” Michael said to me while we danced to Jonathan Butler and Boney James playing “Surrender.” I’m officially off the market. Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked me with a mischievous grin. “Girl, you’ve gone and made me tear up my player card. Now you’re in trouble. I was just going along like a clueless dolt accumulating all the trophies I could while you sat back and didn’t say a word. Don’t you know that I was waiting for you to say something, to complain or anything at all? But you never did. You let me just play all over town.”

  “No. I guess I was the clueless dolt because I didn’t know you wanted to be stopped.”

  “You see, it is all your fault that I was a playa. You ignored me and acted like you didn’t know you had me wrapped around your finger. So you forced me into a lifestyle of protest.”

  I laughed at his last comment so hard until there were tears in my eyes. Just the idea of him appearing to be forced to play the field was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help myself. Soon he didn’t have a choice but to laugh with me. That was one of the most popular shots in our pictorial spread: “The couple enjoying themselves immensely like they were the only ones in the room” is what the caption read.

  Later when we read the story together, Michael said, “Remember what we were talking about in that picture? I was so busy being a playboy that I played myself right into your hands.” He took my hands in his and kissed the backs of them softly.

  He said, “This is the best place I ever could have hoped for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Things were going so perfectly after our announcement party that I peeked around every corner, looked both ways twice before crossing the street, and constantly watched over my shoulder. I was living a dream and was waiting for someone to wake me at any time. I had a loving and generous man by my side, a career that I loved, a comfortable home and a carefree lifestyle. It was ideal but I was convinced that an ill wind was hovering just over the horizon, waiting to blow a little bad luck my way. That’s why I took nothing for granted, especially my relationship with Michael.

  I felt like I sacrificed a great deal to maintain my love life, although Humphrey had said that it wasn’t much of a love life at all.

  “Do you feel a pull on your heart, when he suddenly appears?” Humphrey had asked me that last time. “Does your heart swell so that it fills up twice the space in your chest?” “Do your insides feel like they’re smiling?” “Does your stomach feel like it’s filled with butterflies?” He rolled the examples off his tongue in spitfire speed. “These are the effects of true love on one’s heart, mind, body and soul,” he’d said.

  And he laughed when a look of recognition didn’t register on my face from not even one of his examples.

  “If you don’t feel any of that, Zoë, then you don’t have shit. I feel at least two of those things or any number of combinations, every time you come within twenty feet of me. What does a person do with feelings like that? Am I supposed to just tell them to go away or ignore them every time they remind me that I love you to death?”

  His words often haunted me. They crept up on me when I was doing everyday things like making my bed in the morning after Michael had gone home to change or taking my morning walks around Mt. Vernon. When I listened to his words in my memory, I felt like such a phony, an imposter…pretending to be someone I wasn’t. But life was kind to Michael and me. We’d safely made the transition from best friends to best friends and lovers and both of our families were convinced that it was only a matter of time before we’d be husband and wife. Before that could happen, I had to stop listening to Humphrey’s words.

  The week of the reggae festival, it rained from Monday to Thursday, but the sun came out Friday morning and brought some cool, crisp temperatures with it. We ended up with a true fall reggae festival. I’d ordered balloons by the hundreds in shades of red, gold and green. On that first night, we’d assembled a group of singers from various groups to do covers of popular reggae love songs and that concept went over well. The group was comprised of all kinds of singers: blues, rock, pop as well as R&B crooners and of course, reggae artists. Their collaboration was good and their performance was taped to raise proceeds for the homeless in Baltimore. It was a good lead in to our ‘Let Love Rule’ theme. I’d had a number of interviews on area radio stations to promote our event and was relieved that Michael and I were the only partners involved in the financial aspect of the festival. Our investors from the last time did contact us and express interest but we were stronger, much more knowledgeable about what we were doing and better equipped to foot the bill. And it showed. We strove for quality instead of quantity, paring down our number of vendors and only hiring the ones with the best products and services.

  Against my better judgment, I agreed to let Mr. Wes use the last night to campaign for the election and he invited candidates he was endorsing for other offices to do the same. I spied him weaving through the crowd for most of the night, smiling and talking to whomever would stop long enough to listen; and to those who didn’t—he simply handed them a photo card with all of his information and moved on. I personally didn’t think that politics had a place in our festival where we encouraged everyone to let love rule their lives instead of hatred, racism, fear or intolerance. We de
finitely didn’t want to promote government intervention, especially with threats of terrorism freshly paraded in the press. But we were doing just that by allowing Mr. Wes and his colleagues to come inside the festival and promote their campaigns. I tried to keep my opinions to myself because Michael had been working so hard for his father. But he knew that I was not pleased.

  “Hey, Princess,” he said in my ear as he approached me and I jumped when he embraced me from behind.

  There had been a small skirmish in the crowd earlier, something I always knew could happen, and it put me on edge for the remainder of that last evening. I’d found a spot under a tree…away from the people where I could observe the crowd from a much broader vantage point. He’d found me. I turned around into his arms and welcomed the solidness of their hold on me.

  “I’m tired,” I breathed into his neck while my head rested on his shoulder.

  “I know that the fight spooked you earlier, but that’s why we hired the off-duty cops to handle that, Sweetie. We have to expect trouble sometimes, even while we hope it doesn’t come.”

  “I know. Michael, but that doesn’t make us any more prepared.” “I’m going to take you home soon so you can get some rest. Okay?” His hushed tone was meant to soothe me but it conjured images of home, my bed and him lying in it—in exactly that same order. I sensed hesitation within myself to fulfill that vision.

  I went to church with Michael and his family for the second consecutive Sunday. It was important to him that I attend and so I did. I was used to a smaller, Southern Baptist atmosphere with a full musical staff…fi e, brimstone and a Holy Ghost-fi led service. The church that I’d practically grown up in was personable and everybody knew each other. In their church, Memorial A.M.E, everybody knew the Franklins as well as members of several other prominent Baltimore families, but they all didn’t really know each other; the church body was too big and impersonal for people to notice you unless you were a prominent family member. The Franklins actually had a designated pew…the left-hand side of the church, third row from the front. They were a part of the foundation of the 2000 member congregation. In all the years that I’d known Michael, I had never attended church with him until the previous Sunday. The enormous building, erected in the past five years to replace the original dwelling, the reserved behavior of the members, the bodyguards flanking the pastor, all served as reminders that I was out of my element. His father was invited into the pulpit to speak about his run for mayor—to thunderous applause.