Eyes turned in our direction. From behind me. the maitre d' whispered, “May I have your coat, mademoiselle. I kept my eyes on Nick, and let the maitre d' lift my Burberry off.
Nick's arms were opened wide and we hugged so tightly and rocked back and forth. The Warhol table exploded into a burst of applause. Andy still didn't turn around. The sound caught and several people at other tables began applauding. It was embarrassing and my body quivered.
“Hey, you guys, get a room, or at least a table, “a voice called out, and quickly embraced both Nick and me, It was Ethan. Nick extended his arm to me and we began walking slowly toward the Warhol table.
I didn't want to sit with the entourage. I really did not. I had my two guys once again, and I felt complete, whole and I didn't need or want anybody else. As we walked down the narrow room, I saw a small table with a red rose on the the white table cloth and at once I knew that was our table.
The maitre d' followed and pulled the chair out for me as the three of us took our seats; my eyes swayed between Nick and Ethan; my heart beat rapidly. “A red rose,” I remarked. Is this our symbol?”
“Naw. Just thought it would be a nice touch. Not everything has symbolic meaning, Babe.”
“I'm so happy . Once again we are one,” I said.
“Hey, what's been happening Nick, my good buddy? Still up to your same tricks?” Ethan chimed in. Ethan planted his elbow on the table and stared at Nick, shaking his head up and down.
Nick smiled vaguely, his lips tight. “Still got a bug up your ass. Don't you? You resent that I'm back in the picture. Don't you?”
“What are you talking about? You're my buddy. You're just not comfortable with both of us getting hot with Anna. Are you?” Ethan went on.
“Deep down we both want to make our girl happy, as lovers and friends. That's what she wants.” Nick turned and smiled at me.
Ethan shrugged and didn't say a word. I was silent too for the moment, stroked my hair, and then framed my face with the palms of my hands.
“No. Wait. I know what's going through your head,” Nick interrupted. “You're getting tight-assed because the three of us will end up in bed together. God damn. You think too much, Ethan. Roll back and enjoy the moment.
“Hey, let's get some drinks,” Ethan blurted, avoiding any response and flagging a passing waiter.
To my mind Nick was wrong. Ethan wasn't acting out any sort of bedroom anxiety. He was pissed off, yes I use that term, that Nick returned. Ethan got used to being with me. Being a pal and lover, being sweet and turned on by his job. Now it's over. Nick has returned. What warmed my heart was that Nick actually said out loud that the guys are there for me as lovers and friends and want to make me happy. Wow. I almost put my ideas out, but thought it best not to enter the foray. “Drinks are a good idea,” I finally said.
Well, it appeared Nick put in lots of pre-planning for his return and this celebration. The busboy arrived carrying a tray stand and an ice bucket, setting it down at our table. A waiter followed with a silver tray with three Champagne glasses, and little dishes of black Caviar. The glasses, little plates of Caviar and breads were placed carefully and ceremoniously in front of us. The maitre d' showed up with a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon and poured. We raised our glasses and entangled our arms in each other like little octopuses, looked into one another's eyes with the broadest of smiles, said, cheers, nodded sipped, and placed the glasses down on the table. We soon stood for a group hug and giggled.
“What a beautiful moment,” I sighed.
“And many more to come,” Nick added as we sat down.
“To us,” Ethan said and raised his glass and we toasted ourselves once more.
“I'm so happy,” I cried.
“Easy babe. Don't cry. We've got lots to talk about, lots to catch up, lots to eat and to drink.”
The guys' voices were like music, as I sat and listened to their angelic tones, seducing me, and all the while comforting me even with Nick's and Ethan's griping
As we drank and laughed, Nick's dirty blonde hair which was swept back, severely when I arrived was now tussled, while Ethan's curly brown cut stayed in place, and was so sexy.
I finally realized now all of us were genuinely happy to be together again, and in our own little world.
Nick told us the whole story of his stay at the rehab place and getting kicked out for drug use. He told us about a kid he met at rehab, “ a freaky kid. Yeah he had a drug problem, but kept telling me Andy Warhol is his dad. I laughed every time he said that. He likes the Rolling Stones was into their music, yeah.”
“Boy that would be interesting if true,” Ethan chimed in. “Andy was his dad? What do you think Anna?”
I shrugged and smiled. Andy was furthest from my mind now.
“Hey, Anna we're here to celebrate you,” Nick said, a twinkle in his green eyes and from that moment he was Nick all over again, the sweet, lovable Nick, the guy I originally fell in love with.
A rush of pleasant pop songs enveloped my thoughts; songs like Andy Williams singing Moon River.
We're after the same rainbow's end, waiting, round the bend
My Huckleberry Friend, Moon River, and me.
I began humming the melody and the boys joined in and we sang as many lines of the lyrics as we could remember and laughed and rose up again for a group hug and a clinking of glasses and some sweet kissing on the lips.
What happened next is a complete blur, as warm white lights blinked on and off, like a sputtering bulb about to end its life cycle. I blanked out, fell on the hard black and white tiled floor in the ladies room, yet heard someone scream,” Get an ambulance. Quick, hurry, please.”
Next thing I remembered, I lay in a long room, with white walls in a hospital bed, with white sheets, and large white pillows, stretched out in a white hospital gown, lifeless, eyes shut, the world's stage whited out.
Part 3
Chapter Twenty-one
Seeing my beautiful Anna fallen on a bathroom floor in agony, her body twisted in pain, was not something I was prepared for. We got her into an ambulance quickly and sped up to the hospital, just a few blocks away.
Ethan and I waited at the main entrance floor at New York Hospital, a whitish, grayish, gargantuan structure on York Avenue, nervously fidgeting, and filling out forms, while hospital emergency personnel triaged Anna.
“We should take shifts, sitting with her. We can't leave her alone.” Ethan said, his voice cracking.
I”ll be here with Anna. Don't worry. If you got things to do, go do 'em.”
“Nick, I don't want to leave.”
“It's okay, Ethan. We know that we are both here for her.”
“But I have a deadline, you see. Nick, You understand?”
“I do. Anna will understand too, That's who's important, Anna.”
Ethan was silent for the moment and turned his head away to stare at the reflection in the glass office partitions behind us. I was sure he was crying, and didn't want me to know it. When I looked at the glass our eyes met, and it became clear to me at that moment of eye contact, that Ethan understood I am not judging him at all. He could go on with his deadlines, and still feel a strong bond with Anna.
I placed my arm around his shoulder and told him, “Wait for the doctors to give us information. Then, go.” Ethan thrust his hands in his pants pockets. “Thanks Nick for your understanding. Thank you, really.”
It seemed like several hours of waiting, when a couple of guys finally walked briskly towards us, and we ran up to them. A kind of Mutt and Jeff team, I thought for the moment, quickly wiping the silly image from my head and castigating myself. Anna might be dying. One guy was lanky, tall, a white coat and stethoscope around his neck, so I assumed he was a physician. The other, a short roly- poly man with a mustache, in a dark suit, and a white plastic tab in his breast pocket, holding a couple of ball point pens.
“How is she? Tell us she's OK,” I said.
“She lapsed into a coma, hopefully it
is temporary,” the doctor said, nodding his head, trying to assure us her current condition would evaporate shortly.
“It seems she was poisoned, Plant poisoning. Do you know if she ever ate fix xyz plant leaves?” the other man added.
“What?”
“Yes, our toxicologists are analyzing that now,” the doctor went on.
“She mainly eats salads, when we go out,” I told him. “Could that have poisoned her?”
The doctor, opened his hands, extending his arms in front of him.“We'll know shortly. We pumped her stomach. I believe we got rid of all toxins. She should be okay. The police might have some questions for you.
“The police?” Ethan asked.
“Yes,” the other man answered. I understand it's routine.”
You could see her now. But let me warn you,” the doctor went on, “ you won't be able to communicate with her at all. She's in a coma, at present.”
The shorter man began to rub his chin. “Who are her next of kin?”
“We are,” Ethan said quickly. “We are her cousins.”
The man shook his head, seemingly satisfied, though as I reflect on that moment, I wondered what his purpose was in being there with the doctor. Was he with the NYC police department?
Both Ethan and I looked at each other and bolted to her room after the doctor told us the floor and number.
What I noticed immediately as we walked in was that Anna looked serene and calm; her eyes closed. Ethan and I moved to opposite sides of the bed and held her hand, and smoothed her brow.
A nurse was in the long hospital room, in front of Anna's bed. Another patient was at the other end of the room near a window. “You can speak to her,” I think she enjoys hearing voices,” the nurse said bending over Anna's forehead with a wet cloth gently wiping her face.
The doctor told us we couldn't communicate with her, yet the nurse claimed Anna enjoyed hearing voices. “Look Anna,” I said Ethan and I are here. We will be with you. The doctor told us you will be okay, babe. We're here, the two of us, pulling for you.“
We held her hand tightly, and I'm sure Ethan was thinking what I was. Why are there no facial expressions? Does she truly know we're here? Anna's look was so serene, so devoid of strain, so relaxed in a peculiar sort of way as if all stresses of day to day living were erased.
“Anna, you remember I have a whole magazine to get to press. I have to leave for my office in a short while. Is that okay?” Ethan stared into Anna's eyes, I'm sure hoping for some sort of signal.
Ethan told us earlier at dinner, that he was working on a sweeping piece on, the Twelve Most Important Artists of our Time. He needed to lay some finishing touches to his overviews of Larry Rivers, as well as to oversee the whole of the project.
With his habitual precision of expression Ethan spoke lots about Larry Rivers, which made me feel a little uncomfortable, earlier this evening with Andy sitting only tables away from us, and the fact that I worked for the guy. Ethan was never one to let that influence his thinking. So he went on, “Larry is a Bronx boy. His birth name is Yitzchak Grossberg, and his parents were Jewish immigrants from the Ukraine.”
“Why is that important in understanding his art?” Anna asked. She looked so demure, at dinner, so dreamy and so intent on learning everything she could about contemporary artists. Only moments ago, I kept thinking, Anna was alert and vibrant. Life is so precious. In a snap it can be all over. Finished.
“Maybe these little biographical facts tell us something about their art, their struggles and conflicts. I got to think that through. Anna you're folks were from that region.”
“Yes, sweets. I know where my parents were born and raised.”
“Anyway, Larry changed his name to Larry Rivers way back in 1940 when he played jazz saxophone. Cool cat. Won't you say? The band was known as Larry Rivers and the Mudcats.”
“And what is your point, Ethan?
The point is that Larry is ... the Grandfather of Pop art. Most of the guys today, including Andy owe a lot to Larry.”
While Ethan was talking to Anna bout Larry, I walked over to the Warhol table. Andy met my eyes with a colorless smile, friendly, and one he often used, while a couple of his ladies shifted in their chairs. Just to kid around, I walked my fingers up a couple the girl's spines, which made them jump and swoon at the same time. I know I am good.... in bed, certainly. I can give these woman sexual pleasure that rocks them to ecstasy. Often they scream out my name, Niiickkk, as if I were their god, and they my parishioners, singing, shouting their hosannas, in the name of Nick Boxer, the holy of holies, the eternal defender of their vaginas. No, come on now. I'm not full of myself, though I know it sounds that way.
Rambling my hands up and down one girl, Mina's, back, her black hair, short and shaggy, I told Andy that Ethan is placing finishing touches on his big essay about the Twelve Most Important Artists in America. Andy tilted his head, and let another faint smile spread across his lips, as he pressed in place the the wave of dirty blond hair across his forehead. I was aware this time he anticipated I would be doing my job.
But that was earlier, before this terrible mergegency. No, I must succeed in a new job, nursing Anna back to health, and stop basking in a self-serving spot, like standing under a stage light in a Puccini opera.
I heard Ethan say, “Got to go, Anna, my love. Now you take care of Nick; he's here with you. You will never be alone. I'll be back as soon as I can.” Ethan bent over and kissed Anna's lips and forehead and quickly left, not looking back. I know he was a cry baby, and didn't want me to see his tears.
I sat with Anna, smoothed her brow, patted her hair, kissed her, while she lay on the white hospital sheets … lifeless. How can anyone keep themselves from crying, and feeling pain at times like this.
I had a giant urge to confess, to confide in her. I don't know why, but I did. “There's so much we need to fill in about each other, isn't there Anna?” I told her. “You know that you have two lovers. Yes, babe, you got your wish, your dream came true. But you must wake up and enjoy. Smell the roses. Oh, Anna my delicious babe.”
“I know, I may have been hurt with you when we first met months ago at the Ferus gallery. Though when I saw you, I knew how strong my attachment could become, just by the sheer rapture and fright, I felt in my in my heart. You thought I was unnecessarily intruding on your privacy when I asked who your parents were. Well, babe you can be proud of yourself, you quickly shot back at me, with … with, … and where are your parents from, and what about your background, or some words like that. Anna, babe I want to fill you in. I'm not that much of a mystery man. Here Anna, feel my throbbing heart. I want to tell you all. Placing her limp, but warm and precious hand on my heart I admitted that I must be calm. I shouldn't be excited. That would not be good for Anna. You, Anna stood out like a beautiful rose in that crowd that very first night. Babe, I'm overwhelmed that you are in my life.”
Sitting with her, looking at her still, beautiful form – her blonde curls smoothed probably by the nurse, her lips, pale, her face serene, I couldn't help myself, and didn't want to do what I was about to do. I left for the bathroom, took out a silver wrap of my last spot of cocaine, just about a pinch, snorted, and wet my finger and licked every last single spec of dope off. I stood patiently over the toilet bowl, “Man, this is good stuff,” I whispered to myself. Finally I peed in a steady stream, flushed the bowl, washed my hands, splattered water over my face, and washed again. Brushing my hands through my hair, I was struck for the moment; the mirror showed an abandoned mien.
I returned to Anna's bedside, placed her smooth, white hand over my heart, and kissed her delicate fingers, ingesting all I could of Anna's sweet aura. When I looked up, with Anna's hand back on my heart, I saw the shorter man, from downstairs, standing over me with a suited guy and a cop.
“My name is Oliver, the shorter guy said. “We met downstairs. These gentleman have a few question to ask.” Oliver looked around the room, and then asked. “Where's your cousin?”
“He left for work. He'll be back later.”
“I'm Detective Conner,” the suited man said. “This is Sergeant Makevich.”
“How can I help. This is an awful situation,” I answered.
Conner nodded his head slowly. He was a big guy, by big I mean broad shouldered, and thick but not as tall as me. He paused, though to me it seemed like an long silence.
“Do you think, Nick, she was deliberately poisoned?” Although Connor's question shocked, his tone seemed congenial.
I began to, rub my knuckles against each other. “Who would do this? I was thinking it was food poisoning.”
“Nope. Poisoned from a plant leaf.”
“Why would Anna eat a plant leaf?
“I don't know. That's why we are here. Hoping you can help. Did she have any plants in her apartment?”
“I was rarely there.” I had to stoke my memory of her pad. “Hell, I am one of those people who doesn't notice much about surroundings. Don't remember.”
“You seem sure of that.”
“No, I'm not sure.”
“Think. Give it a moment.”
I was shaking my head, no.
“Are you saying you might not give it more thought?”
“No, sir. I am shaking my head letting you know I do not remember.” I was beginning to feel irritated with Conner as he probed, in a cop's accusatory voice. Frankly I was freaked, which is so not like me. I glanced over at Anna. She lay there peacefully, no movement at all. My eyes remained on her, but my mind exploded in a rush of intensity like a fastball moving on a trajectory too fast to slow down.
When I turned back, Connor stood, motionless with his arms folded. The pure white blow was in full force and I finally entered a zone of slow moments, stillness, dream awakening, splashing colors, morphing into Andy's repetitive images of blue-green Coca-Cola bottles, burgundy colored soda pop, and red and white for the Coke logo. Even rows of two-hundred and ten bottles, filled in varying levels. Half full or half empty? Drugs, sex or Warhol's art? Which was the great equalizer? I remember Andy saying it was Coke. “All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good … the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it.”At this moment in time, and I knew it would fly by quickly, I finally felt free of the stranglehold of dread, and dying, and fear of bottled shaped objects, hurtling nowhere.
Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG Page 17