Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG

by J. G. Rothberg

  Nick looked so overwhelmingly desirable, like juicy candy. He gave me a big long lock-lipped kiss, while gently pulling off my kerchief. I felt a slight chill from nuzzling Nick's nose, and I noticed his cheeks had a slight red color, from the autumn chill outside. Nick wore no overcoat, just the blazer. I wore my light rain coat, which I had purchased at the Burberry store in my office building.

  Nick announced himself to a tall, slim, bony man. The slim man nodded at us, showing large white teeth. It was a bizarre look, I thought. “Of course Mr. Nick,” the man said with eyes wide open, Allison will show you to your table. And then the bony man said something strange. “My best wishes for tonight and congratulations on your intentions. Enjoy.” Alison a black-haired young woman in a skimpy black outfit, with black leotards, led us to our table, looking over her shoulder every few steps, as we followed. She seemed like a dog owner, checking on the safety of her little pooch, off the leash. Would she then scoop me up, and hold me? What a crazy thought. I laughed.

  Nick picked up on this. What's funny? By the way you look incredible.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And you do too ... all the time.” Looking at Nick, who would ever think my guy dropped acid, smoked dope, was overly sexed and drove me into a wild frenzy of delicious sexual desire.

  Nick grabbed me around my waist and planted another long kiss on my lips; though this time so long that an older woman, with bluish tinted hair called out, “Get a hotel room, for God's sake.”

  Adopting an overmodest look, I replied, “We will, but only if you join us.” The woman didn't say another word and Nick pulled me forward. “You are terrible, babe. Be careful about what you say.”

  “Oh, Nick, always my protector, and I love you for that. You know that, don't you?” I reached up, kissing him again.

  Our table had a gorgeous view of the lawn in Central Park; the shimmering lights illuminating the grass, gave it a country look. And I felt as if I were swept into my dreams, and transported to the hoped for little house with a white picket fence, that Nick and Ethan and I would share.

  Nick scratched at his ear lobe as we settled in our chairs. He spoke almost immediately. No additional smiles, or hugs, or kisses. It was as if he wanted to get something off his chest. “You know, I love you babe. And you know, yesterday I was working … for Andy. And yes, you know about my reputation … with the so-called Warhol entourage. Hey, that's where life takes me now. But …. I … ”

  Nick continuing saying something, but I tuned away for the moment when suddenly a switch of some sort inside me turned off or on, and I felt as if legions of butterflies squeezing into my belly. I forced a smile.I wasn't sure why I felt this way, but I was becoming anxious, kind of like the time I was pregnant as a teenager, and before I had told my parents. Oh, how the pregnancy continues to haunt me, with mounting ferocity, at times, pushing waves of sadness over me.

  “Hear me out, please,” Nick went on. “Think clearly, and when I am finished, respond. Okay?”

  I caught that part of Nick's conversation, and when Nick said, hear me out, I brought my hands up to my face, and rubbed my jaw. I think I was feeling faint.

  “Anna, what's wrong. You look frightened. Anna, your face, expressions … have … shut … down. Anna, please, what is it, babe. Please don't worry. I'm always here for you. Always depend on me. Always.”

  “I don't know,” I said softly, pushing both hands through my hair, and lifting my chin. “I'm always thinking back to my pregnancy that hits, and grips at my stomach.”

  “Babe, the pregnancy, was then. This is now,” Nick said quickly and without hesitation.

  “I never said this to anyone, darling. But I … I often wonder where this boy is, now. I gave birth to a boy. My parents never mentioned or said anything about him. They believed it was over. But it is never over.”

  “Babe, I feel the pains shooting through you. I do.”

  “I know you do,” I said. “And I love you so much for that.”

  “ Give me your hands. I want to hold them,” Nick ordered. “Have you ever tried to find out who the adoptive parents were?”

  “Never tried while mom and dad were alive. That would hurt them terribly. And in these few years? No, I haven't made any attempt.”

  “You knew it was a boy?” he asked, his blue eyes almost electric.

  “Yes. I never held him. A nurse swept the baby away.”

  “That was so cold and clinical. I can't imagine your emotions then, “ Nick said, urging me to go on.

  And while in this depressed state, I realized another trait I admired about Nick, he was an appreciative listener, and a great talker. “I remained in that hospital for several more days, in a kind of stupor, barely ate or drank anything, while my parents made arrangements for the sale and adoption.” At this point in my story, I gasped, and breathed heavily. Nick jumped up, and rubbed my head until I said I was okay.

  I went on, “When I got home, mom said, in her distinct Slovak accent, rolled r's and guttural sounds, ”Anna, go back to school, like before. Be happy, and forget everything. You must do this for your poppa's sake, for my sake, for your happiness. Everything will be okay.” My parents were so stoic, but I know how much pain they felt. My poppa continued to tease me a little in a good matured way, about about my hanging around the Warhola boy, that's Andy. “You should be friends with girls. You will have plenty of time for the boys,” he had told me.

  Nick still held my hands across the table, rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. It was soothing. I finally, breathed out and relaxed my shoulders, relieved the memory was finally over. “Oh, Nick, my dearest,” I sighed. Nick showed his relief with a big broad smile and a tight grasping of my hands.

  A wine steward arrived, with a bottle of Dom Perignon in a silver bucket filled with iced cubes. He placed the bucket on a wine stand that he pulled over from the wall behind us. A busboy brought two Champagne glasses, a red rose, with tiny blades of thorns on its long green stem, and set the red rose gently on the white table cloth. Nick commented that the rose petals were the color of my beautiful lips.

  How I wished Ethan were here. The comfort with both guys now became so much a part of my existence

  The steward poured Dom Perignon in our glasses, and moved aside. Nick looked at me with such clarity, the blue of eyes beamed with intensity. “To us.”

  “To us and Ethan,” I corrected.

  Nick didn't smile, but smirked. “Anna I know you think I am a slut, and maybe I am. I want this to be a memorable night. So … Anna, please marry me.” My mouth opened wide, and froze in place as Nick went on. “I brought you my grandmother's ring.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. “Anna this is for you, with all my heart, all my soul, all my love.”

  I felt dizzy, reached for my glass of Champagne, swallowed a gulp full, and covered my face with my hands, pulling away from Nick's hold. I began to cry, uncontrollably. So much so that the wine steward, and bus boy rushed to the table asking if everything were okay.

  “Yes, I'm all right,” I answered, and waved them off. A momentary thought flashed through my brain quickly. Was it Caroline's carrot juice concoction from yesterday, that I began tasting? I reached for napkin resting on my lap and wiped my lips, lightly, and sipped a bit of water. The awkward taste evaporated.

  “What's happening, babe. Aren't you okay?”

  “No, I'm not.” How could such bliss as I had been experiencing all this while with the two guys, now become a burden? I should feel like the luckiest woman alive, but I felt a heavy weight drop down on my shoulders.

  When I uncovered my eyes, Nick was starring blankly. He expected some other reaction, I supposed. And in the short silence that followed different expressions flashed over his face, and every time I looked, his gorgeous countenance changed. “Oh, Nick you are one gorgeous guy, one hundred gorgeous guys, all rolled into one.”

  “I don't understand, Anna. I thought this is what you would want. And to prove I mean
t this, I brought you my grandmother's ring. Doesn’t this mean something?”

  I was gushing tears, again, gushing like a geyser. “Did you ever propose to anybody else,” I managed to say through my tears.

  “No, no. No one has come close to being like you. Anna you are special to me.”

  “And you are to me.”

  “You think I am a slut, and that is all there is to it.” Nick bit his bottom lip and turned aside.

  “No, that's not it. Not at all,” I exclaimed, turning his face towards me

  “On one level you do think that,” Nick shot back. “Marry me Anna. Just say yes, and we can move forward. And then … and then … you'll know my trust is with you, no matter what my actions are.”

  “Move forward to what?” I asked in an exasperated voice.

  “Move forward with our lives. What don't you get, Anna? I don't understand you, now.”

  Nick was so angry. I had never seen him that way. His facial muscles tensed, and his blue eyes turned to an icy blue stare. “You have got me all wrong, honey. I respect you, so very much. I love you. But I don't want marriage. No, not marriage.”

  “You mean not marriage to me. Isn't that what you are saying? How much more love can I show? We fuck well, we enjoy one another. We have great times and great conversations. Anna how many times have you told me you love me? How many times, have you looked into my eyes, with admiration?”

  “I want free love. Freedom with our love, not marriage. Freedom from institutions, like marriage. No laws. Just freedom, with our love. For you, for Ethan, for me. And yes, I wish all three of us would live in a little house, together. Can't you understand that? You are destroying me and my dreams, my beautiful Nick.”

  “I don't think so,” Nick said. “No, that is not what this means, at all. You don't understand, Anna. I don't believe this.”

  We both knew somehow that silence was best at this moment. I looked at this powerful and sexy figure, with his shining eyes fixated on me. Finally Nick broke the ice.

  “Anna, what is wrong with you? I believed I was giving you what you wanted. Is this impossible for you to understand? Why can't you answer in … a natural way. Why these highfalutin ideas? I thought we clicked like a … a .... machine part, that falls into place, and then, and then you tighten, and it stays in place for ever. I know we clicked, Anna. I know it.”

  “Nick. I don't know what to say.”

  “Anna say, yes. Yes, yes, yes. I want so much to marry you, Nick. That's all you have to say.”

  I could spend the rest of the evening starting at Nick, and his beauty and all the while try to figure out where I went wrong. I lost all my appetite, though I gulped more of the Champagne. Apparently, I never communicated well enough my desire for a free love relationship with Nick and Ethan. You'd think guys would catch on to that concept. But Nick, of all people, Nick was a romantic. To hold on to me, to help me close my eyes to his dalliances with the Warhol ladies, he felt he had to propose marriage. And why … why would he think that was necessary? I seemed to have put a terrible burden on Nick. I knew all along that although he zones out, he is not an uncaring fellow, at all.

  I was afraid I would vomit. In a way I was disgusted with my self. I couldn't sit any longer. “Can we leave, Nick? Can we? I want to get away from this place.”

  “I planned all of this to be beautiful moment, and you …

  just … .” Nick pounded his fist on the table sending spoons and forks and knives flying. He stood up, and trying to hold his voice back, exploded. “How can you do this to me? Anna. What is wrong with you? That's how you handle difficulties, by just getting away, and just leaving.” His patience seemed exhausted. Nick's brilliant, crystal clear blue eyes stared, and again he pounded his fist on the table.

  Bony man ran over, picking up the silverware. He then held his hand above his lips, and said softly, “I think it would be best if you both leave.”

  We hurriedly left the restaurant, with Nick clutching my arm and not letting go. Outside, he pulled my face to him, and kissed me hard, and kissed me again, and again, and again, as I tried to get loose from him. Tears just kept rolling down my cheeks.

  And in a complete change of attitude, Nick said, “Anna, let's get drunk, down in the village, and then come back with me to my place.”

  I wasn't dumbstruck by his remark, just overwhelmingly relieved and I sighed, “Yes Nick. Please. Let's get drunk.”

  I phoned Ethan, from the Bitter End on Bleecker, telling him that, “after this music set , Bob Dylan goes on. I asked him if he was okay.

  “Sure,” he said. “Still banging these keys,“ he laughed. “I won't be staying with you tonight,” I said.

  “Okay. I'll catch up with you tomorrow, and you'll tell me how your evening with Nick went.”

  The evening was spent going to one or another music club, – Gerde's Folk City, Village Gate, the Gaslight and yes, Cafe Wha?, and drinking heavily. Who knew what music acts were on? I think there was a Joni Mitchel, and Tim Hardin, Dylan and so many more. I don't think we even cared. We drank beer, with Schnapps chasers, and occasionally, Kaluha and Coke, and lots of coffee and thankfully lots of water. Once when I needed to pee, and I barely could stand, Nick had to escort me into the ladies room. He strolled me into the stall, and sat me down. Other female patrons in the darkened bathroom, just stared in amazement. “He's my caretaker,” I slurred, getting out. Nick helped me to the wash sink and splashed and patted my face with water.

  He was so terrific tonight. Walking in the streets, Nick made it seem that nothing hurtful happened between us. We bumped, we zigzagged, we puffed on dope, we laughed and we hugged. For one moment, I broke down in tears, once again. “Nick, honey,” I said. “The Rose.”

  “What about the rose, babe?”

  I left the Rose, my precious Rose at the Tavern.,” I said trembling.

  Nick stopped short, and pulled me in close. “You're okay, babe. The rose will be all right.” But closing my eyes tightly, I tucked shattered images, of red rose petals, and thorns, indelibly into the nooks and corners of my psyche.

  Maybe a minute passed and we stood in place. Strident bursts of laughter passed over us; rain drops danced in a white circle under the street lamps, and everything began to feel better now.

  By four that morning, after munching on Burgers, and fries, and drinking herb tea in a diner on West Fourth Street, we cabbed up Sixth Avenue and then over to the Chelsea. Neither of us mentioned, a word, or even a teeny tiny reference to the Tavern on the Green episode, except for that one remark I made about having left the rose at our table. Exhausted from the arduous and emotionally draining night, we fell into each others arms, hugging more tightly than ever, if you can imagine that. Fully clothed, and in one another's arms, we soon conked out.

  When I awoke, late morning, Nick was gone. Hurriedly, I showered, grabbed my emergency set of clothes left in Nick's closet, donned my Burberry and got into a taxicab going uptown to Madison Avenue, and my office.

  Chapter 13

  If I could unscrew my head this morning and put on a replacement, I would. What if I had said yes, to Nick? That would be dishonest. Thinking how deeply I hurt him, how he had opened up his truest levels of feelings for me, pushed me to ask myself howcould I possibly make it up to him. I was awful. I called Nick from my office several times, but couldn't reach him. On my first call to the Warhol work space, I anticipated hearing,“Hey, babe. Are you okay? What's up?” But that was not to be. And with each phone call my anxieties rose, and my heart sank a notch each time I phoned.

  After the first call, I usually got abrupt answers. “He's not here. Or, “Don't call him at work.” Though one time, a female voice came on the phone. “Oh, one more of his ladies who wants to get fucked tonight. Get in line. What's your name? Isn't he the cutest, mindless bimbo you'd ever want to know. And he fucks like a machine.” Holding my tongue, though wanting to lash out, I replied simply, “Thank you. I'll try him again later in the day.”

&n
bsp; When I did call back, I think Andy answered the phone, saying what seemed somewhat enigmatic. “Oh, uhhhhh, Nick is gone. He'll be gone for awhile. Okay?” And then I heard a shout, “Will someone get this phone from me.” I quickly hung up.

  And now a new pit of anxiety opened in my belly, as I chastised myself for being rude, not taking Nick's feelings into consideration. Somehow I had a distorted impression that Nick drugged himself, to dull any and all emotions he may have felt, and wrapped it in sexual encounters. But that is not what he did with me. Nick felt my pain – he said so again last night – and I couldn't acknowledge his sufferings. Even that first night back in July, he truly, and I believe honestly, showed attention to me, and never let go of me from that moment.

  Sitting at me desk, pencil in my mouth, I was remembering how he moves strands of hair from my face; the way he hugs me and holds my hand, or wraps his arms around my waist, or kisses or squeezes my breasts, or tastes my femininity. I had made him happy in an honest way, and then betrayed him.