Travels Through Love and Time

by Christine Hall Volkoff

  And then she had turned me loose … Maybe it was the most generous gift of all. We had a new take on life and we were going to see how it would affect our separate destinies. And then let the chips fall where they may. I might come back soon, or I might not. I might meet Lindy half way in New York, but nothing could ever match the beauty and excitement of the discovery, the sense of wonder that had graced our past four days.

  I finished the cigarette and walked outside the arch to throw it away in the public garbage can. By the time I went back to get my suitcase, my taxi had arrived.

  When I finally got to the airport, the first thing I did was call her and leave a message on her answering machine. Hearing her voice on the recording again, I realized how far we had come in those few days. I had never loved like this. I had never lived like this, with such intensity. I had never known such freedom.

  Lindy, beautifully open, masculine with the masculinity of courage and strength, feminine with the femininity of gentleness and intuition … liberated with a sense of freedom and adventure which is not tied to any of the world’s stale institutions and conventions. Pure with the knowledge that she takes pleasure in the giving as well as the taking … She had enfolded me with love that was benevolent and generous. If I did not end up being with her, well maybe I could be more like her.

  After the phone call, I went to the airport bookstore to see if by chance they had a copy of Marguerite Duras’ 'The Lover', not that I am such a fan of hers, mind you, but it would be a great comfort to know that Lindy and I were once again reading the Obscure One at the same time together. Of course, they didn’t have it. No surprise there, and off I went.

  They called the San Francisco plane for boarding. It was time to take my new self back into the world at large.

  VON ASCHENBACH

  Like a gift from the heavens it was easy to tell

  It was love from above that could save me from hell

  (Carlos Santana, Chad Kroeger - 'Into the Night')

  Halfway through dinner that night, it occurred to me that I had a crush on Bethany.

  There she was, drinking a little too much, talking and laughing with me and Minna, her mother. There was nothing out of the ordinary until I went into the kitchen to put some plates away and help my gracious hosts with some facsimile of clean-up.

  Stepping through the swinging door, an exhilaration I hadn’t felt for many years came over me … it was a mere flutter of the heart, with the exciting implication that I would never get tired of looking at her, and that her presence in a room enhanced our simplest experiences and gestures.

  There was also around her an aura of kinship, of inner and past trouble, that made me feel protective about someone I did not know all that well. There is always a taste of the unknown in those we are infatuated with, and our job is to make them reveal that mystery to us so we can solve all their problems.

  The specter of Thomas Mann’s novella 'Death in Venice' raised its wizened head in the back of my mind.

  In it the aging hero, Gustav Von Aschenbach, becomes obsessed with a young boy named Tadzio. As the epidemic of cholera descends upon the City of the Doges, Aschenbach sees himself as Tadzio’s protector, while he is himself about to die.

  Coming back to the dining room, I was appalled that, at my age, I could already be channeling good old Von Aschenbach. It was somewhat reassuring to think that while he was much older than Tadzio's mother, I was a couple of years younger than Minna, and Bethany was not a kid anymore. At 28 she had come back to live at home and go to school to study for the California Bar.

  Home was a beautiful villa in the wealthy part of Venice, California.

  Venice. The similarity in names struck me as most ominous.

  A few months before, Bethany and Minna had been vacationing at a mountain resort in Colorado where I had gone to spend some time with Alison, my partner of many years, and some other friends. The two women were the bright spots of my week there. We would stay up long after everyone else had gone to bed and discuss the world around glasses of wine and other exotic alcohols. Minna had very kindly invited me to stay with them in Venice if I ever had to go to LA. Flattered, I thanked her but thought I never would. Yet they felt like old friends and I was looking forward to staying in touch.

  They were unconventional, intelligent, and well travelled. Bethany charmed everyone and had a knack for talking to kids and older folks as if they were her peers. As for Minna, she was always ready for adventures on skis or otherwise.

  They were for me a symbol of my beloved West: Bethany a typical blond and lithe Southern California kid, and Minna a sophisticated, active woman who managed to look good in most styles of hiking gear.

  Believe it or not, being old as the hills has its good sides. Hopefully, we can leave behind the strife and commotion that had made our young lives so complicated.

  The time had come for me to make peace with many people with whom I had quarrelled or who had hurt me in the past. This redemption quest had started for me within the year of my stay in Colorado.

  A visit to Los Angeles to meet with an attorney was part of this effort. As I was planning the trip, I recalled Minna's kind offer. I sent her an email to which she responded promptly and repeated her invitation for me to come and stay over. It was just for a couple of nights, and I was looking forward to seeing them again.

  So there I was … I felt good and light hearted, enjoying all the fun and banter as we put away the dishes. Going upstairs to my perfect guest room at the end of the hallway, I still kept Aschenbach at bay. In fact, I marvelled at the way I could get this feeling and yet keep it light, and know that it was just a gift, a little bit of heaven for free as they say in Moroccan pastry shops when they give you a sample of their wares.

  It was not until morning that the disturbance appeared to be a little more serious than first thought.

  Bethany was going to be at school all day, and then out on a date with her boyfriend Vijay, or “VJ”, as they referred to him in notes on the refrigerator door. We had talked at length about VJ the night before. They had showed me a photo of him and Bethany on a fancy cabin cruiser, holding bottles of beer and smiling at the camera.

  They were not exactly the Beauty and the Beast. VJ was one of those people blessed with a mixed heritage. His mother was Indian and his father from Boston or somewhere similar back East. He had the most perfect features I had ever seen on a young man. His smile was broad and confident. He was slim, elegant, with brown skin that highlighted Bethany’s blond hair as it blew in the wind. They were your perfect textbook Hollywood couple: rich, beautiful, and in love.

  Minna had assured me that the relationship was serious, though no engagement had been in the works as long as Bethany had not finished her PhD.

  Sensing that I was going to see very little of Bethany, I caught myself scheming to make sure that any amount of time we spent together would be nothing short of perfect and meaningful … What could I say that would leave an impression on her? What could I do to create a special place for myself in Bethany’s memory amongst the previous occupants of Minna’s guest room? Probably nothing … Getting hold of myself, I came downstairs determined to hang on to my peace of mind and not fall into my old habit of turning a blessing into a curse.

  My plotting had been useless anyway. Much to my chagrin, I was spared honing to perfection my few moments with Bethany. She was long gone by the time Minna and I were having some breakfast while looking out to the ocean.

  That morning the water was shimmering silver under a light mist. Lone joggers were running lazily on the beach, dogs ran back and forth frantically retrieving tennis balls.

  Without Bethany, the conversation had lost some of its excitement. Still there was a light, easy flowing feeling in the air and I found myself riding on it.

  Minna told me the secret location of the spare house key so I could let myself in later. She had to attend an awards banquet that night. Being one of the recipients, she would have to give a speech, and
there was of course no way she could miss this event. Minna was very matter of fact about the award. She acted like someone who had received so many of them already that they were part of her routine.

  It was almost a relief to leave the house and drive on the freeway on my way to Hollywood to meet the attorney. The day was beautiful, and not too smoggy. I detoured a little bit along 405 South just for fun, and revisited many of my favourite locations on the way.

  So many years later, everything looked more or less the same. There were new buildings here and there, but the back streets still had their pink or blue rickety shacks and faded surf boards drying on the yellow grass.

  Finally I turned back North and drove into Hollywood, the well named Tinsel Town, unreliable guardian of our dreams and desires.

  It was quite stylish that morning. It looked clean and cheerful from the palm-lined avenues of Beverly Hills to the usually grimy sidewalks of Hollywood Boulevard. I pulled into the attorney’s driveway on Selma, and walked in with a spring in my step.

  The meeting went very well, and so did the lunch afterwards. At first, we had to catch up on our respective domestic situations and make some obligatory small talk. Around dessert, however, our level of conversation became more intimate than I thought it could ever be. We even managed to get in touch with truths I never imagined would come to light.

  We discussed a particular night where I reminded him he implied that if I stayed with him until morning, things might go better for me in my career. He had to concede that in this day and age it would be called sexual harassment.

  I did not clear up all the mysteries surrounding our business relationship, but he did apologize and agree that many things he did then were obnoxious, hurtful and out of line.

  We toasted to greed and to being young and stupid.

  I felt generous, magnanimous and overflowing with forgiveness. It was liberating and strange all of a sudden.

  After all these years, I had finally become myself. At least I thought so.

  When I returned to Minna’s house in Venice Beach, it was at the hour when the sun starts going down, and the light becomes richer and softer at the same time.

  I retrieved the key from the hidden location, and walked into the empty house. It was cool and still light inside. It was definitely too early to turn in. I left my shoes on the wooden floor in the entrance hall, and went right back out.

  The sand was still exhaling warmth as I walked on the beach all the way to the ocean and dipped my feet. The chill in the water caught me by surprise, but there were many swimmers and waders basking in the fading sunshine. The mist was gone and the silver of the morning had turned to gold. What a place to live!

  I sat down on the sand and stared at the waves for quite a while. People were smiling at each other and I was smiling back, saying hello. It was not too different from the times, years before, when I had lived in Santa Monica, but I did not feel the same. I felt better. I smiled, remembering how we used to make fun of 'MacArthur Park', the “someone left a cake out in the rain” song. As I watched two toddlers see their sand castle get destroyed in a surf apocalypse, I was lecturing to Richard Harris: let us not blame those who left the cake outside, when we are the ones who should have cared enough to hang on to the recipe.

  Good thing the 1970s had moved on long ago and taken their depressing and obscure songs with them.

  Shadows started stretching to announce dusk, and the sun disappeared behind a small cloud. I went back into the house.

  In the refrigerator I found the leftovers from last night’s delicious dinner. I was getting ready to warm them up when I heard the front door open and close.

  Had Minna decided to forego the Awards night? Nah … in spite of her outward detachment, I think she was very flattered and looking forward to it. She would not miss it short of a catastrophe involving major National Security issues.

  Back in the living room, I caught sight of a blur rushing up the stairs. It was Bethany. Ah, maybe she forgot something, or V.J was with her and I had missed him. I went back to my dinner, finding a plate, and firmly intending to plant myself in front of the huge flat screen TV to watch one of Minna’s DVDs.

  Searching for just the right DVD in the bookcase, I was also examining the book collection which I always enjoy doing. They had a lot of current and past best sellers … some of them I had read, others which seemed to be an endless repetition of stories about women coping with middle age divorces.

  Here was something different: 'The Ultimate Orgasm', by John Wyclife, M.D. Interesting … Then some classics: 'Anna Karenina', Henry James’ 'The Bostonians' … ah, a second copy of 'The Ultimate Orgasm' three shelves below. Well, you never know when it might be lost or stolen. Better to be safe than sorry!

  I had just returned to exploring the DVDs, when Bethany came down. She walked into the living room and said hello. She was alone. Her eyes seemed a little pink as if she had been crying.

  “I thought you were going out tonight,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Yes, well so did I!”

  She seemed upset. I did not want to intrude, but I wanted to be comforting somehow. “Come here and I’ll fix you a nice cup’o tea.”

  I was holding up the bottle of 12 year old Scotch that Bethany had been drinking from the night before.

  She smiled. ”Great idea!”

  I prepared that Scotch on the rocks like it was the Holy Communion, cooling the glass with ice cubes, pouring the whisky over the ice with great care.

  “Would you like to share some of last night’s leftovers with me?” I offered.

  “Sure, that would be nice.”

  She seemed to unwind a little. I wasn’t thinking of Von Aschenbach then, or of any misplaced desire I might have experienced earlier … I just wanted Bethany to feel better, and I was determined to help in some way.

  Minna had opened a bottle of Château Haut-Brion the night before, and I brought it to the table by the window. Bethany and I sat down to dinner as the light turned crimson with the last rays of the sun disappearing into the ocean. I did not watch for any green ray. I was keeping a close eye on her and doing my best to smooth out the frown from her brow, and chase away the touch of sadness in her eyes.

  She was talking easily of this and that. We talked about movies we liked, we talked about our travels, where we had been, what we thought. Australia. I could picture in my mind Bethany travelling through Australia by herself and how thrilling it must have been for those who met her just like that, by chance, on the road, in the middle of the Outback, and who got close enough for her to call them friends or lovers.

  We talked about a book I had read about the unanswered questions surrounding the attacks of September 11th 2001. It was dark outside. The wine was delicious and light, going down easy and was helping to relax both of us.

  I heard myself voice the question I had been dying to ask. “So what happened tonight? Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather not?”

  Talk about it please, don’t hold it in.

  “Oh, I can talk about it … What a fiasco!”

  She explained that VJ had called while she was still at school to cancel their date as he was feeling sick. She decided to stop by his house anyway to keep his spirits up and help out, but he was not there.

  “So I called his cell phone, but it was on voice mail.”

  “Do you have any idea where he went?”

  “Well, I can guess, but I am not about to go lurking after him or anyone for that matter!”

  I asked where she thought he went.

  “Ah, there is this girl, Olivia Ramos, she’s from Brazil, and she flirts with everyone including him, of course. He always says he thinks she’s really hot. For all I know, he was there.”

  “Or at the emergency room.”

  “Well that's true...”

  She did not seem convinced.

  “He thinks she’s hot, eh? Hmmm … What does he say about you?”

  “Ha!” she said with a little
self-deprecating laugh. “He pays me nice compliments every now and then, but I don’t think he’s ever said that about me. At least, he’s never said it to me.”

  “Well, this might not mean much to you, but if outwardly you are quite stunning, there is also something about you that is dangerously appealing. I should know. I happen to have developed a huge crush on you since … well, since yesterday.”

  I said it lightly, like a joke.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No, I’m not. I mean it.”

  She looked down, briefly, and softly chuckled. She looked straight back at me, smiling. She did not seem embarrassed.

  I glided on. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand here … Do you two get along well? Do you like being with him?”

  “Yes, I do. We have fun together. And sex is good … at least it is for me … ”

  In my mind I could see a 14 year old Bethany studying late at night trying to decipher Dr. Wyclife's arcane instructions. At least that's what I would have done.

  “Well, it's essential of course … but, Bethany, more importantly, do you love him? Your mother thinks you will marry him … ”

  “Oh, I do love him … Sometimes I think I live through him a little too much … I cling to him maybe. That's what it feels like, anyway.”

  “Well you know, I believe that a good relationship should help you come into your own and not make you more dependent, but that’s just me. However, from what you told me, it sounds like VJ might be more into himself than he is into you … it could be that this imbalance is what makes you hang on for dear life, when in reality he is simply not giving you the comfort or reassurance you need.”

  She looked at me with a funny little smile. Maybe the rescue operation was beginning to work. I looked back at her, amazed at her beauty. Yet the ghost of Gustav Von Aschenbach was asleep in its unholy grave and not bothering me at that moment.

  “What do you know about this,” she asked. “Have you ever been with a man?”

  “Yes, I have, more than one. I have been around the block a few times,” I said jokingly. “What do you want to know?”