Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG

by J. G. Rothberg

  When I finally phoned the Chelsea Hotel, Brad told me Nick paid a month rent up front and said he'll be away. “He also left instructions, Anna, that anytime you want to use the room, it's okay to let you up.”

  I thanked Brad, and asked, “Where did he go? Do you know where he is? How did he look to you?”

  Brad answered that he looked like Nick and laughed. “So we might see you soon?” he asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  That evening after work when I arrived at Ethan's place, he told me, “Anna, I delivered my review to Art Mirror and I feel good.”

  I was so tired and feeling queasy. I flipped off my shoes and said, “Nick is gone. Nobody will say where. Or for how long. Ethan, I hurt him terribly, last night. I was unthinking. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

  Ethan was shaking his head and biting his lip. Anna sit down, here with me on the sofa and tell me what happened.”

  I recounted everything to Ethan, all that happened last night. Nick's asking me to marry him, and my uncontrollable tears. I also explained,“Marriage wasn’t what I wanted but free love. But Ethan that response, hurt him, and I didn't want to do that. I went on about the late hours, getting drunk and stoned, and my stay over at the Chelsea”

  “This free love thing? You said it many times to us.” Ethan said.

  “I know. Then, why did Nick ask me to marry him? And why couldn't I show restraint, respect and love.”

  “You're probably the one woman Nick could ever love, honestly. You know that.”

  “Thank you, Ethan. I accept that. But love, not marriage.”

  “I'm guessing Nick needed some way to differentiate, his screwing around with the Warhol girls, and you. He was telling you that you're not a play thing that he gets zonked out of his mind, and performs, with no feelings attached. That's what he was saying he did with those woman. He was a sex machine and he gave them pleasure.”

  “I'm confused. It's as if you're encouraging his action.”

  “No, I'm trying to define it, and tell you that you missed the point. He fucks them, but makes love to you, Anna.”

  I was always astonished how quickly Ethan got down to a point that made sense. He was glib and conversational, always. Though he expressed shyness with people at times. His brown eyes, and rosy cheeks and smile, made him welcome with most people, I'm sure.

  I asked him, “How was I was to respond?”

  “What makes you so sure Nick disappeared because of you? You don't know what's with him on certain levels. Maybe it's something to with drugs. Maybe he's in trouble of some bad kind of action. God, I hope not.”

  “Ethan, you're not being helpful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I love him, and I love you. And when I love somebody, I know, when I hurt them by stupidly not letting go of a kind of … protection to my ego. I feel devastated.”

  “Nick's gone. For a short while, maybe. Do you understand somewhat better now, that your goal, is hard to attain?”

  “That's fair. I should shut up about it, and be me, and enjoy you and Nick. No, I had to make this into a self righteous belief. Oh, Ethan, last night, when he began to talk in a serious or somber way, I became frightened, and thought back to my baby and being pregnant. And all at once, shame, hurt, who am I questions, fell on me and shook me.”

  “Anna, don't be hard on yourself.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he's a drug addict. And you can't read his actions. Probably nobody can. And Anna, this is difficult for me to say, Maybe you are overwhelmed by his sexual proclivities, like those Warhol ladies, whom you keep in low esteem.”

  “Don't say that to me.”

  “I don't want to, but that's my honest observation.”

  I found Ethan's remark intimidating. He always had a kind of rivalry with Nick. The pushing and shoving between the two. Was Ethan on some level jealous of Nick's abilities?

  Ethan took hold of my hand, and instead of embracing him, I responded with a weak, disingenuous smile.

  Ethan squeezed my hand, and held on for a moment. “Hey, what do you want to do tonight?” he asked.

  “I don't know,” I said wistfully.”

  “Don't worry about Nick. His situation will sort itself out. You'll see.”

  “Why shouldn't I worry?”

  “Because incessantly taking drugs does peculiar things with your personality.”

  “I don't understand you, Ethan. So that should mean that we forget about while he is going through hell.”

  “No, but again … I don't like to say this. We're dealing with an addiction.”

  “You're talking in circles. Addiction isn't the whole Nick. I hurt him I know it. And he disappeared,” I said in a huff. “Maybe I need to go now.”

  “Anna you have me. I just finished something important to me. My review. Don't you want to hear about it.”

  “Yes, I do. But not now. I just want to be somewhere free of emotional pain.” I began walking to the door, and when I looked back, Ethan just sat there, with the most screwed up expression, and his mouth wide open. Finally, he said, “So, Anna, what happens now?”

  “I don't know the right way, any longer. Do we ever know anything about anyone? When we let other people in our lives, what happens to us? It's difficult enough to keep track of ourselves,” I said enigmatically, starring down at the doorknob and then walking out, gently closing the door to Ethan's apartment, behind me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning I already had several messages from Ethan. One read, “Let me know if you're free for lunch. We must talk.” The messages didn't change my mood, for I was confused. I did not hear a word from Nick, so I phoned Brad at the Chelsea Hotel asking if he had heard anything.

  “No, I'm sorry, Anna. But don't worry. He's a big boy. He'll be back. I assure you.”

  “Why are so sure?” I asked.

  “I feel it in my bones. Anyway, he would have left saying he's moving out. He didn't say that Anna. So, let that be a little assurance for you.”

  “Thanks, Brad. Do you mind if I check in from time to time.?”

  “Not at all. Check in as often as you want.”

  Brads sureness did help a little that morning, and later that day, after a quick lunch with Ethan at Schraffts down in my building, I got the surprise of my life as the publisher called me into the conference room, where Ethan was warned about his activities, and offered me a job as chief paste-up person. This was indeed a promotion. The publisher shook my hand vigorously, and told me to study art direction. “You never know,” he said with a wind.

  “Does this mean, I could become an art director for the mag,” I asked.

  “You never know,” he repeated, shook my hands wished me good luck and left.

  The luncheon with Ethan was pleasant, not emotional, just a catch up. I told him I called Brad and he said he hadn't heard. I kept news of my promotion from Ethan, I suspected his news was of great import for him. Ethan then told me with a degree of fanfare, and toasting with our coffee cups that he got a call this morning from Art Mirror.

  “They accepted my review, and not only that, offered me a permanent job as managing editor. In fact, I'm on my way there to discuss the job with them.”

  I was elated for Ethan, but frankly wasn't sure if I had shown Ethan a satisfactory level of glee. I was also smiles, and told Ethan, “I knew you could do it. You are a born art critic.”

  Ethan was effusive, his cheeks, a bright red. “The publisher said, they know of my experience with Esquire and heard from several galleries that I would be a natural fit for them. Anna I'm so happy.”

  When we finished lunch, Ethan offered to walk me back to my office. As previously, he buzzed the elevator and punched in the fifth floor, and with a big smile on his face, took my hand, leading me to the stairwell. As we sat on the steps, he whispered “Anna,” and reached under my blouse and bra squeezing my breasts, fondly. I pulled my garments up, and Ethan kissed with great intensity,
long kisses to my breasts and mouth, and tugs at my nipples. I held his head on my chest and he snuggled, as his breathing increased. Soon enough he pulled away, grabbing a Trojan from his pocket, slipped it on his throbbing penis and entered me. I moaned, “Yes, Ethan, yes, this is so beautiful, yes, my darling.” Our breathing increased, but to be truthful as Ethan pushed intensely, I was thinking of Nick. And the more, I whispered in Ethan's ear, “yes, yes, my darling, it was Nick, I was caressing.

  Ethan finished with the biggest grin on his mouth and with the most rosy cheeks, I had ever seen. I smiled at him broadly and when we pulled ourselves together, I took his hand,. We walked down to the second floor, where Ethan gave me a long wet kiss. “Wish me luck, Anna.”

  “You know I do, sweets, my love,” I said as the elevator doors opened, and Ethan left.

  Later that afternoon, I phoned, Brad letting him know I'll be staying in Nick's room for a while. Brad told me that everything will be in place for me. I arrived early that evening with a garment bag filled with additional clothes and a hand bag with personal toiletries.

  The days that followed were busy for Ethan. He took the job at Art Mirror, placing him in a fairly advantageous position in the art world, and dove into his work immediately. He told me the working title for main section for the next issue, “Ten Great Artists To Watch Closely.”

  “Is Andy on the list,” I asked.

  “Yes, indeed.” he offered.

  “And what about Jasper Johns and Bob Rauschenberg?”

  Yes, yes,” he said, and added, “As well as Roy Lichtenstein, Tom Wesselmann, and some surprises.”

  “I think that for spite, you should drop Andy from your list. Remember, he didn't hesitate to drop you off his, at the opening night of his exhibit.”

  “Anna, things don't work that way. And you know, revenge is not appropriate for an art critic.”

  “I know, my love. Just wanted to be bitchy for a moment.”

  “You're too beautiful and sweet to be bitchy.”

  “Thanks, Ethan. I love you.”

  That evening, in Nick's room at the Chelsea Hotel, I set the painted wood chair by the window, hoping, I'd wake during the night and find Nick sitting there, yes, staring out at the street scene, below.

  I yearned to kiss his lips, his hot loins, and immerse myself in his soothing caresses, and comforting hugs. Please, return soon, my darling. You know that all I truly want is to love, to keep us together, to keep us in some kind of bond, to keep a balance.

  Dearest Nick, remember the love we made from that very first night? You made me feel as if we were the first human beings to engage in this act of passion. You took me with a storm of desire, you coveted me, you thrilled me, and nothing has ever been the same for me since. Oh, my darling, I hunger for your kisses.

  At bed time, I stared with abandon at the wood chair at the window, I lay in the big bed in Nick's big tee shirt, and my white silk panties, smoking a heavy dose of his pot. Meanwhile, black spots started dancing past my vision, and I turned on his bedside radio. To the soothing late night music,I caressed myself, while the velvety voice of Mel Torme sang In the Still of the Night.

  I puffed three times in swift succession, and three more times, placed the mary jane in the ash tray, and then swallowed one of his little pills, I had taken from his secret sock. I placed the fingers of my right hand and then my left between my lips, and began licking the tips. And my hands fell over my breasts and erect nipples, and I began pleasuring myself, slowly, and gently. I spread my legs wide, and down and down, one hand slipped beneath my panties to my clitoris, and I stroked over and over, ever so softly.

  Oh, my dearest Nick, I moaned, Oh, oh my god, I moaned. My heavy heart moved up and down, rapidly. I moved to a half sitting position, fingering my breasts, and clitoris, faster, and faster, still. Yellow, green and red lights and purple neon lights from below, flashed in the mirror above dresser and suddenly Nick, you are here, at the window.

  “Be one with me, my darling. Enter my garden of delight, my lover,” I cried out. You moved to the bed and sat behind me, and I fell back on your chest, as you embraced me. Oh Nick, oh my god, oh my Nick, come to me. You moved my moist finger tips over my breast and and circled, every so often, squeezing my nipples. You gently tapped my hands down to my lady hood and circled, and finally placed one wet finger in my me. I was breathing very heavy now, and my loins shuddered, and my knees shook, for you. Oh, my god. My Nick, I cried out again. And you were gone, a vision of emptiness, as I sighed, relaxed my shoulders, and brought my legs together.

  I returned to the hotel the following night and the following, preceding each return, with a stop at the front desk. Brad smiled, shook his head, and just said, “Sorry Anna, not a word. Hang in. Okay?” I simply nodded and walked up the wide staircase to Nick's room. I opened the door slowly hoping he'd be there, sitting by the window, looking out, waiting for me. And when I entered the room, I hoped to hear, “Is that you Anna. Come here, babe, sit me me.” I sighed, threw my coat on a chair, and walked through the empty room to the bathroom to change out of my office clothes, put on my nightie and pulled out of a his chest of drawers a worn copy of J.D. Salinger's “Franny and Zooey,” Nick's favorite novel. “You'll always have this book, Anna. Keep it here in my drawer. It's for you to read, over and over. And babe, pencil your favorite quotes in the book, and always tell me what it is, so we'll have our own private language of sorts.”

  I opened his little refrigerator, took out the ice tray, tossed in a few ice cubes in a glass and poured two fingers of vodka, jiggled the ice in the glass, took a sip, and placed the tumbler on the night stand. I could only smile, now, as I read on, with a pencil nearby, every ready to place a check mark here or there. After an hour or so, I got dressed to go to the diner up the street for some sloppy food.

  “Will we see you later, Anna?” Brad called out from behind his desk.

  “Yes, just getting a bite to eat.”

  “If he calls in I'll tell Nick, you'll be back in a while.”

  “Thank you, Brad. You are sweet.”

  That was a little game we played. Brad did it for me, I know to keep my hopes high that Nick would soon return.

  I played a long because I knew that is what Brad wanted. He was lonely behind that desk. I don't think anyone treated him like a human being, rather as an automaton, at their beck and call to answer this and that, and to do this and that for them.

  “Later, Brad,” I waved. Without turning back, I felt the big broad smile of contentment on his lips.

  cool, like I did with Anna. I don't like those feelings.

  “Oh, yeah,” I went on. “My first time with sex. So, one Sunday morning – remember I was fourteen at the time – and I slept a little late that day. My mom knocked on my door around eleven o’clock.

  “Okay to come in?”she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, stretching my whole bod on my maple wood bed. That was the best bed I ever slept on. I had plastered the sideboards of that bed with magazine full page color photos of Mickey Mantle. On the walls of my room I had hung huge posters of Whitey Ford, Mantle and a poster of a testy Casey Stengel, the NY Yankees manager, leaving the dugout.

  “My you’re a sleepy head this morning,” my mom had said.

  “I don’t have school, today” I yawned at her. “You know that mom.”

  She smiled, then old me, “Guess you had better shower now. Go on, I’ll get your clothes ready with clean underwear.” I could feel mom's eyes following me as I stumbled into the bathroom. Dr. Kantor?”

  “Yes, Nick.”

  “You said, say what's in my head. I don't know.”

  “Continue, Nick. Go on.”

  “Soon, my mom opens the bathroom door, picks up my underwear, and tee shirt that I just dropped and checks that the towels are clean. “Mom,” I yelled as I was about to step into the shower.

  “Now don’t go all modest on me.. You were my baby. You know, I’ve seen you naked, and I've diapered you and wa
shed you. Silly boy.”

  “How did you feel at that moment,” Dr. Kantor asked.

  I pushed my hand to my chin, and shook my head at first. “Nothing, if you mean, did I feel shame? No. Sometimes I thought this might be wrong, but I love my mom, love her so much.” I started to laugh.

  “What seems funny, Nick?”

  “Well, nothing.”

  “It must be something. You would not have laughed.”

  I lay quietly on the the doc's sofa. A slight tremor ran through my belly, as I was about to speak. “You know I love my mom, very much. Hey, call me a mamma's boy. I don't mind.” I went dead silent for another moment, waiting for Dr. Kantor to say something. She remained silent.