For a minute, John just stood there, running his hands through his hair, apparently searching for words. His eyes filled with tears. “First of all, I’m not seeing another woman,” he said. “Let’s be clear about that. Second, the man with Ron and me was from the production company. He wanted to join us. Ron wanted to meet with me because he wanted to tell me that they want to start filming in New Zealand earlier than planned; in a couple of weeks.”
“In New Zealand? In a couple of weeks? What about our wedding? Or did you forget about that?”
The tears which had been filling his eyes now rolled down his face. “Hannah, we can’t … I can’t … go through with it … the wedding.”
Rage erupted in me and I pounded my fists on his chest. “Liar!” I screamed. There is another woman! You’ve been screwing her behind my back!”
He grabbed my wrists and gripped them so tightly it hurt. “No! Now listen to me. There is no one else. I could never feel for anyone what I feel for you, what I’ve felt for you all these years. Why do you think I’ve been so preoccupied? I knew how hurt you’d be and it’s been tearing me up inside. But I have to tell you the truth now.” He let me go and sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. “Hannah, I just can’t go on with our relationship. Since we’ve been back together, it’s been so intense between us. At first, I reveled in it. I loved you … still love you so much, I was happy to lose myself in you. But now, I’m so overwhelmed, I feel like I’m drowning. I’m so drained emotionally, I don’t have anything left to put into my work and …”
“So, you’re just going to cast me off, is that it?”
“No, of course not. We can still be in each other’s lives, as friends.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It didn’t make any sense to me. Did he really believe what he was saying? I felt he was mocking me with that ‘friends’ bit and I made my tone as derisive and full of contempt as I could. “Friends? After what we’ve been to each other, do you really think it can be like, ‘Hey, Buddy, let’s go down to the bar and have a beer?’ Maybe we could catch a Rams game on TV.”
John ignored this and got up to leave. “I’ll come back tomorrow and move my things into storage while I’m in New Zealand.” He reached out to touch me, but I slapped his hand away.
“Just go,” I said. I could hear my voice cracking and I felt my composure melting away. As I heard the door close behind John, my legs gave way and I sank to the floor in a sobbing heap.
***
I don’t know exactly how long it was before I finally pulled myself up off the floor and crawled into bed, but when I woke again, it was nearly morning. I remembered that John said he was returning to collect his things and put them into storage and I knew I didn’t have the strength to be there when he did.
I phoned my parents, thinking Matty and I could stay with them at least through the weekend. When Mother answered, I tried to control my weeping enough to tell her what happened and to ask if Matty and I could go over there.
“Of course you and Matty can come and stay as long as you want,” she said. “But I don’t want you trying to drive in the state you’re in. Your father and I will come and get you. You just pack your things and we’ll be there as soon as we can. Now promise me you’ll wait for us.”
As I packed our bags and tried to get some breakfast for Matty, my hands shook so badly, I dropped food and dishes on the floor. I just left them there. I was glad that Mother and Dad were coming and that I wouldn’t have to drive anywhere. When they arrived, they wanted to know more about what had happened between John and me, but I was desperate to leave before John came. Matty and I piled into my parents’ car with Dad while Mother followed in mine.
Once we arrived back at my parents’, I told them everything that happened and what John’s reason was for ending our relationship. “Maybe when he comes back from location, he’ll have a change of heart,” Dad suggested. He’s done this before, remember. I don’t claim to understand his behavior, but I do know that some people just never develop a strong sense of self.”
I retreated to my old bedroom and after drawing the blinds and downing some sleeping pills, lay down on the bed. I wanted to be unconscious. My whole body was wracked with pain. It was as if I’d had the breath kicked out of me. It hurt to breathe, to move, even to think. Over the next several days -- I’m not even sure now exactly how many, Mother came into my room once or twice and tried to get me to eat something. I ate a bite or two, but I felt nauseous and almost couldn’t keep it down. I just kept on taking more sleeping pills to numb the pain. Once, Mother brought Matty in to me in an attempt to get me up, but all I could do was hug him for a few minutes before falling back asleep.
The next time Mother came in, she opened the blinds. The bright sunlight stabbed my eyes. “No, Mother, please close them.”
“No. It’s time for you to get up. You need to eat and you need to take care of your son. He’s been crying, wondering why his mother won’t get up.” She grasped me by the arms and pulled me up into a sitting position. Through a haze I watched her rapidly, almost frantically, pick up several items of clothing, fold them and put them into drawers. She then set about tidying up the room though nothing had been moved or disturbed.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m still too sick. Maybe tomorrow.” I collapsed back down on the bed.
“You will get up now.” She pulled me back up and started shaking me.
“Stop it! You’re going to make me throw up!” The stabbing pain in my head was blinding. I pushed her hands off my shoulders. She then started slapping me with both hands. A long buried instinct took over me. I raised my arms to ward off her blows and began crying. “Mommy, stop! Please!”
“What in hell is going on in here?” Dad stood glowering in the doorway. Mother and I both froze. “Well, Jeanne? Hannah?”
Mother ran over to Dad and pointed at me. “She won’t get up. She won’t eat. She won’t take care of Matthew.” She spoke in a fast staccato. “Make her get up.” She began pacing the room like a caged tiger.
Dad took her by the arms and eased her out of the room. “Alright, Jeanne. Just take it easy and leave it to me.”
I lay back down until the nausea subsided, but didn’t go back to sleep. After a while, Dad returned. “Hannah, come on. Danny is here and we’re going to have a family talk. I’ve calmed your mother down some and she’s making you breakfast and you are going to eat it.” He put his arm around me and helped me to the dining table. Danny was there, feeding Matty a bite of sausage.
“Sweetheart,” Dad said. “We know you’ve been going through a painful time, but it has gotten out of hand and we think you should get some professional help.”
“We want to help you, but this … this is out of our league,” Danny added. “I know of a couple of therapists. They have good reputations …”
“I don’t need any therapist.” The decision came to me as I spoke. “I’m going back to New York. Yes, today Matty and I will go home and I’ll start packing and making the arrangements.”
When I pulled up to the house, I was relieved that John’s car was nowhere in sight. Slowly, I inserted the key and opened the door. The place had a ransacked look, with several open drawers and closets and empty spaces where his things had been. It was unbearably hot and stuffy, which told me that it had probably been several days since John had been there. I spotted a white envelope on the dresser. It was a letter from John. I was in no mood for anything he had to say so I threw the envelope into a drawer and forgot about it. Then I lay down and began a mental list of everything I had to do to prepare for the move back to New York.
First, I phoned around to cancel the wedding plans. Then I phoned the same real estate brokers that Tony and I had worked with when we were trying to find a house. I asked them to as quickly as possible find a place for rent and gave them my parameters for price and location. I would take the first place they found sight unseen. The next thing on my list was the hardest. I phoned Laur
ie and told her that she wouldn’t get to be my matron of honor after all; that the wedding was off and that I was moving back to New York. She tried to convince me to stay in Los Angeles. She even offered to help me find another place there, but I was adamant. I didn’t want there to be even the smallest possibility of running into John. “No,” I told her. “I want to be gone by the time he gets back from location. It will be better if we’re as far apart as possible.”
The only bright spot, if it could be said there was one, is that I had work waiting for me. I had just been signed to do the score for a movie, which was going to begin filming in New York that summer. I was concerned that my moving would be a problem, but the director and producer both assured me that it would not. Matty and my work would be my solace, my saving graces, channels through which I could work out my grief.
Mother, Dad, Danny and Laurie helped me pack and clear out my place and settle with the landlord. A friend of Danny’s bought my little Rabbit. Danny and Laurie accompanied Matty and me to the airport and waited with us until we boarded the plane. I was so grateful to them for all their help. They made me promise that I would return to California to see them … someday.
25
Back in New York, I wasted no time throwing myself into my work. I unpacked little by little when I needed to take a break, sometimes late at night after Matty was in bed. The place I took was the ground floor of a subdivided brownstone in the East Fifties. It was rather small and cramped, but charming in its way. It included a small garden space out back, in which the landlord told me I was free to plant flowers if I liked. I did so and also bought a kiddie pool for Matty. That space became a refuge that summer I could retreat to. Watching Matty splash around and play in that pool did much to clear my mind and sooth my heart. Once a month or so, Tony came over from Queens and took Matty for the day and a couple of times overnight. I thought about going out those times and socializing, but I just had no desire to. Other than work related meetings and a visit or two with Debbie Halpern, I never went anywhere except for groceries and to run errands.
One day, after Tony had taken Matty, I looked in the mirror and surveyed my elbow length hair and make-up less face. I then opened my closet and dresser drawers and pulled out cutoff shorts, tee shirts, peasant tops, huaraches and Birkenstock sandals. On impulse, I put all these into shopping bags and left them at a charity thrift shop. Then, I blew through the department stores like a whirlwind, spending a shocking amount of money on new clothes, shoes and a new short curly perm. I wanted to leave California as far behind as possible and this sudden radical change in my look took me a considerable distance.
I was putting my new clothes away in the dresser when I noticed the envelope from John in one of the drawers where I had thrown it. Now is as good a time as any, I thought, to read John’s last words to me.
April 20, 1982
Dearest Hannah,
I know that I’ve caused you pain and I’m deeply, deeply sorry. But I also know that as strong and passionate a woman as you are, as passionate as you are about your work, your music, you should understand the importance of having the emotional resources to put into one’s work. I still hope that one day we can be friends. Whether or not that is meant to be, just remember this – I never stopped caring for you and I never will.
Love,
John
It took me several minutes after reading the letter, but I finally composed myself. I then found a box of John’s letters in a trunk bound for storage. I put this one in with the rest and locked the trunk. The next day, I took the trunk down to the storage room and closed the book on John and me – or so I believed.
***
I worked through the summer and into the fall on the movie score. Since it was being filmed in New York, I was invited once or twice to watch a shoot. As I watched the scene where the lovers finally realize they are in love, I decided to use the song I’d written for John’s and my wedding. I thought since it would never be used to celebrate our love, it may as well celebrate someone else’s fictional love.
I was in the studio, making a few revisions to the song, which I had retitled For All Our Lives, the movie’s title, when Harry Smithson, the director came in. I barely noticed him sit down and listen as I played the song through. When I finished, he got up and walked over to me. “Amazing, Hannah. I love it. You really must have put your heart into this.”
“Harry,” I said, patting his shoulder as I rose from the piano bench, “you have no idea.”
“And I know just the singer to record it – Ben Samuels. I’m going to put in a call to his agent right now.”
Ben Samuels was a little known singer whose career until then had been mostly in lounges and nightclubs. Harry had heard him and been impressed. When I heard the recording Samuels made, I liked the plaintive expression he gave the song.
For All Our Lives was released at Christmas to rave reviews. I wasn’t surprised. It was a romantic comedy which fit in perfectly with the feel-good temperament of the holiday season. I didn’t share in that spirit. I went only to the New York premiere and one or two social events. Even then, I stayed just as long as I had to, then retreated home.
Other than Matty, the only person I spent Christmas Day with was Debbie Halpern. In October, David moved back to St. Louis, their hometown, to care for their elderly parents. Debbie stayed in New York long enough to tie up loose ends and was joining him after the first of the year. I invited her to dinner so we could spend time together before she left. “David and I are all our folks have and they need us. And it’s not like I have a great job or man to keep me here,” she shrugged. I had a flash of memory of the string of her boyfriends I’d met over the years. Lasting relationships always seemed to elude her. She took a gulp of her wine. “Promise you’ll bring Matty out for a visit sometime.”
“Of course we’ll keep in touch, Debbie,” I reassured her. Though she had a knack for the melodramatic that made me roll my eyes sometimes, she also had moments when she was genuinely amusing and she could be generous to a fault.
A couple of days later, as I was surveying the Christmas leftovers to see if one more meal could be assembled from them, someone knocked at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I was somewhat annoyed at this interruption. “Who is it?” I called, figuring it probably was someone looking for one of the other two tenants in the building and had come to the wrong door.
“It’s me -- John.”
I stood at the door, not sure that I wanted to open it. I knew if I did, I would also be opening wounds that were just beginning to heal. “Please, Hannah, open the door. Please. I just want to see you, even if just for a minute.” I put my hand on the doorknob, but couldn’t bring myself to turn it. “Hannah,” John’s voice again came through the door. “If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave and not bother you again.”
I jerked the door open. “No! Come in.” I shivered as frigid air blew into my apartment from the unheated hallway. I decided that I preferred the risk of reopening old wounds over never seeing him again. Once inside, he took me into his arms and held me for a long moment. I felt the cold air still on him and breathed in the scent of his cologne.
I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I came East to visit my family for Christmas and I couldn’t stop thinking of you here, so close. I just had to take the opportunity to see you and tell you that face to face. I phoned Laurie and talked her into giving me your address.”
I reached up and put my fingers on his lips to stop him. “Let’s not talk about it. I know you’re only here for a short time, then you’ll be gone again. I don’t want to think about the past now, or the future. I only want to be with you now.” I had no hope of putting our relationship back together. If we did, it would only end again, in the same way, sooner or later. “I promise I’ll only ask of you what you can give.”
He stayed with me for the next four days, during which time we never spoke of how our relationship
ended or speculated about the future. We lived and loved only for the moment, like we did when we were first together. One day, we went ice skating and, since I hadn’t skated in about fifteen years, I was clumsy and fell once, pulling John down with me. We lay there on the ice and laughed like children, our hearts so light and free. When he left to return to California, I wept the rest of the day, but I wouldn’t have traded that time with him for anything.
A few days afterward, I learned that For All Our Lives, though it had been out only a few weeks, was on the short list to be nominated for the Oscar. My song too, was in the running for Best Original Song. I was so excited, I almost didn’t dare to hope I’d win. I made plans to fly to Los Angeles to attend the awards ceremony and to spend time with Laurie and my family – under much happier circumstances than when I left.
Laurie was afraid that I would be angry with her that she gave John my address, but had hoped that perhaps we’d work things out and get back together. I reassured her that I wasn’t angry and that John and I, though we knew we couldn’t be together anymore, had at least found a measure of peace.
26
I was making breakfast for Matty and myself one morning when the smell of the bacon and eggs made me sick. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up. It took a couple more days of this before it dawned on me that I was pregnant, as I’d never had morning sickness with Matty.
When John and I lived together, we both wanted children. We talked about it, planned for it and even discussed names. I’d wanted nothing more than to have his child. Now, with the joy I felt, was mixed a great deal of apprehension at how I was going to tell him – and my parents. I worried that John might think I deliberately allowed myself to become pregnant to coerce him into marriage. As for my parents – I knew my father wouldn’t exactly be thrilled by my having a child out of wedlock, but he would eventually accept it. My mother on the other hand would likely not accept this “sin” on my part. She’d swallowed my divorce; after all, Tony wasn’t Catholic and we weren’t married in the Church. She’d also tolerated John and I living together unmarried. The fact that we planned to marry had mollified her. I was caught in a dilemma and decided to deal with it by not dealing with it. I had plenty of time, I told myself. Eventually, I would think of something.
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